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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982221">Standing on the Precipice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutiae/pseuds/minutiae'>minutiae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Best ship name ever, Burns, Canonical Character Death, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Depression, Disability, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone lives, Except Aiden, For Heathen the Mad Glorious Bastard, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Lambert Swears (The Witcher), M/M, Not Beta Read, OSHA violation, Off Screen Animal Death (sorry horsey but you were carrying a bad guy), One-Sided Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Physical Disability, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, The Entire Continent Ships It, bombard, they're learning to be happy again</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:34:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>104,900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutiae/pseuds/minutiae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier sat on that rock, confessing his love. He tried to promise he'd be better, tried to coax him into a much needed rest. But as he handed his heart over, Geralt tossed it right off that mountain. And then, Geralt made it clear that he wasn't even interested in being <i>friends</i>. So he left, and stumbled into Lambert, broken and grieving over Aiden's death, only days before they were supposed to meet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Jasker | Dandelion &amp; Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1605</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeathenAlchemist/gifts">HeathenAlchemist</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier sat on that boulder, looking out over the valley. Well. He’d never hidden his love for the grumpy witcher, sang it in songs, proclaimed it loudly. Poured it out in actions, in stitches on his body, in food in his belly and hot baths to soothe his muscles. He had done everything he could think of, until now. Now, when he asked him to take a rest, give him a chance to prove himself further. To make Geralt happy. And the witcher just walked away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was pretty sure that he actually heard his heart break, but he was a grown man. If Geralt wasn’t interested in his love that was okay. He’d distracted himself this long with flings and whores, he could keep it up. All he had to do was prove that he was still okay just being his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until Geralt made it clear that was unwanted, as well. So he went quiet, following the witcher down to the inn at the bottom of the mountain. Geralt got himself a room, handing Jaskier the saddle bag to take up while he ordered food. Jaskier declined an order for himself, and set up to the room. He unpacked the whole bag neatly, pulling all of his own belongings. It wasn’t much. He took a small travel bag, and packed his things neatly inside. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then he looked at his coin purse- they’d long since just combined their funds. Some towns Geralt’s contracts paid more, others it was Jaskier’s songs that carried them. Jaskier poured it out on the table, dividing it in half and put the rest in the bottom of his bag. It would be annoying, carrying the sack and his lute, but he’d gone so long with Roach carrying his belongings it probably was only fair. He repacked Geralt’s bags the way he liked them, but left the coins on the table. Geralt had his own purse on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier took one last look around the room, and walked downstairs. Geralt was still in his corner, but Jaskier didn’t bother waving goodbye. He slipped across the tavern to leave only to find himself caught. Geralt had a grip on his elbow, pulling him back in. “Where are you going? I got you an ale.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m finding what pleases me, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ale pleases you, come sit down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Geralt.” Jaskier tugged his arm free, and did not look back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>----------------------------</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert ran for hours. Aiden was supposed to meet him two days ago in Tridam, but he wasn’t there. He heard a rumor of a witcher massacring a town outside of Caingorn. It wasn’t long until he could see the smoke from a funeral pyre, and then, smelling it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a blur, after that. Aiden’s armor, discarded next to the pile of wood. He snatched up the steel sword, threatening everyone in range until a pock faced boy flung the medallion at him. Lambert snatches it out of the air, and drops to his knees, screaming. He tries to pull apart the pyre, with the medallion chain wrapped around his hand, but between the fire, the screaming, and the villagers pulling him away, he can’t think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They lock him in a cell and he screams until they bring him Aiden’s armor and steel sword. Not much that he can do anyway. He rages, destroying the small bits of furniture he was afforded in his captivity. He refuses food, and screams until his voice is hoarse. Only then, does he cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----------------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier leans over the bar, giving the owner his very best smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s all performance. He’s been performing for days on end and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s also in desperate need of coin, so he barters a room and food for a performance and gets to work. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been singing all of his best paying songs as he traveled alone. That of course, is almost all about Geralt. Geralt against a dragon. Geralt saving a princess. Geralt saves a town, fighting a bruxae. Saving a maiden fair. However, the strategy doesn’t work in this town. He starts to open with Toss a Coin, always a good one to get the crowd in a good mood but this time, an enormous man stomps over to him. Looming, he demands to know if he’s the bard who tamed witchers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Taming? Seems like a strong word. I did travel one quite often, consider him a friend. Where most of my songs come from.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. Come with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hauls Jaskier up, sputtering and flailing, dragging him across town. They head into the woods just behind the alderman’s house to a small stone cell. Inside is the most mournful keening Jaskier has ever heard, and sends goosebumps down his arms. “Oh, oh no, good sir, I do not know what you expect from me but I don’t think I can help you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got a witcher for you. You tame him, or we put him down. He’s been here nearly two weeks. You’ve got two days, his sentence is already scheduled. Don’t want to put him down, a witcher saved my pa. But if he’s feral, it’s best for everyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A witcher, what-” Jaskier was cut off as he was summarily thrown in the building, the door locked behind him. “Hey! Come on, you can’t lock me in here? What about my stuff? And </span>
  <em>
    <span>food, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I didn’t even get dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your stuff's all right here outside the door, master bard. Two days, I’ll bring food by. Get to taming”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The keening hadn’t stopped, so Jaskier walked down the steps, coming into sight of steel bars and a broken man. He was curled in a ball, pressed tightly to the corner. His face was hidden in his knees, but Jaskier could see the way his shoulders shook. The man was crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Erm. Hello? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The effect was instantaneous. Whatever lump the witcher was holding was flung aside as he threw himself at the steel bars, snapping and snarling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh my, you’re really hurt aren’t you?” Golden eyes widened as the witcher stepped back, still growling. “Did the townsfolk hurt you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The fuck do you care, they’re gonna kill me anyway.” His voice was gravel and stone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. They sent me down here to see if you’d gone feral. Probably hoping you’ll kill me, they weren’t too pleased to hear my songs. Makes sense, they’ve got a witcher in a creepy half underground cell, I shouldn’t sing songs about how great you are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hissed, baring his teeth. “Maybe I’ll kill you. I could.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, sitting with his back to the wall right next to the bars. “You could. I wouldn’t stop you. I’m really only moving forward right now out of habit, anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within a blink, a cold, damp blade was pressed to his throat. Jaskier just sighed, and lifted his chin, tipping his head back against the wall and waited. They stayed that way for a long time, Jaskier just waiting. The longer he waited, the more tears burned his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sword withdrew, but Jaskier didn’t move, tears still slowly falling. “I know you’re not feral. Why don’t you just let them release you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of your fucking business.” His voice sounded like a rockfall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. First, you really should stop talking and drink something. Second, why don’t you just let me get you out of here? Then you can run, wherever it is you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, bard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for hours, but at least the keening had stopped. When the sun started to set, there was a knock on the door and the same enormous man returned with a tray of food. “Well, I’m glad to see he hasn’t killed you yet. Here’s some food. He’s been refusing, mostly, but I put some for both of you. Don’t give him anything he can throw at you, he knocked the blacksmith’s boy unconscious with a tankard of ale.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier took the tray. “I take it I’m in here for the night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d give you a blanket, but he’d probably-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kill me with it, I’m getting the theme here. Alright, fine. Bring more water next time.” With a raised eyebrow, he handed the bard an empty bucket and locked him back in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. They only gave me one tankard of ale. A pity. Will you really throw it at me, if I give it to you? You need something, or you’re going to destroy your voice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The witcher watched him for a long time, as Jaskier sat waiting, picking bits off and nibbling on the bread. Finally, he sighed. “I won’t throw it.” It sounded like gravel, and it felt like shards of glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brilliant, thank you.” The witcher was malnourished, even with an unpracticed eye Jaskier could see the armor was too loose. He drained the ale quickly, and the line of his jawbone and the dip of his neck were thin and gaunt. He glared and growled again when he saw Jaskier watching, who beckoned him to bring back the cup, and he carefully poured in some stew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He said you haven’t eaten much, maybe go slowly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t need your charity, asshole.” But he took the mug and went back to his corner, turning his back to Jaskier. The bard sighed, tore the loaf of bread in half and set half inside the bars. The night was long and cold, but Jaskier finally fell asleep where he sat, head resting on the bars of the cage. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Torchlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier woke with a horrible crick in his neck, but the witcher didn’t seem to have moved all night. The bread was gone, and replaced with an empty tankard. Jaskier very much did not want to make use of a bucket, yet needs must. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t until the sun was well past its highest point did his enormous captor return. He traded pails and trays, and looked at the bard appraisingly. “Well, he’s not howled in a day, maybe you’ll tame him yet.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>At that, there was snarling and crashing from the bars below. They both sighed, and the man shut and locked the door. Jaskier stood there, just waiting. Soon, all he heard was panting, and a deep sob. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I didn’t leave, you know. There’s more food here if you’re hungry. Meat and cheese this time. Plate won’t fit through the bars, though.” Jaskier dumped one plate on top of another, tilted the now empty plate to fit through the bars and set it gently on the ground. He picked the food back off the first plate, replacing it neatly, and the moment he was done, the witcher grabbed him, yanking him forward and slamming his face into the bars. Jaskier maneuvered himself the best he could to limit the pain but didn’t resist the pull on his arm. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I could pull your arm off, right now. Dislocate it, with just a twist.” Pressure on his arm and sparks of pain flew through his shoulder. “What would you do then, Wolf Tamer?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Have one arm? Or maybe, a broken arm.” Jaskier hissed. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather be dead. A one armed bard with a lute, how much </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> useless can I get, right?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He grinned, blood staining his teeth and a black eye just starting to blossom. He was shoved back harshly, falling into the wall behind him. Jaskier righted himself, dragging the tray over. “Well. They gave me two ales this time, but considering you just pulled my arm nearly off, should I give you one?” Jaskier inspected it, while his company paced back and forth. He hadn’t touched the food yet, either. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah well. I can’t withhold food,” He murmured, leveraging himself up carefully, not using his injured arm. He slid it carefully through the bars next to the plate. “You’re not very talkative, I wonder if that’s a witcher thing? How about I tell you about me, since they stuffed me in here thinking I’d somehow make you less murderous. Not sure how that’d work, last witcher I bothered made it pretty clear he’d rather toss me off a mountain for all my friendship is worth.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He slumped, quiet for a long while before speaking again. “Anyhow. Most people call me Jaskier. For a while I was the White Wolf’s bard, but that’s well done with-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’re Geralt’s bard?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier startled, the man was pressed up close to the bars. “Well. I mean. I was. He doesn’t want me around anymore.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“When they kill me, will you give these to him?”  He pulled off two medallions, one identical to Geralt’s, another more feline in appearance. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The idea of me in here was so they </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> kill you, but. Ah. Yes. Of course.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wear them. They won’t think you’ll have them, but if they check your pockets they’ll steal them. Do not lose them.” A surprisingly delicate hand reached out, touching the cat medallion. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’ll trust me with these, but you won’t tell me your name?” It came out in a whisper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lambert.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And the other?” He fingered the medallions around his neck before tucking them inside his shirt where they couldn’t be seen. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“None of your business.” He stood up, righting his armor, and wedged the third sword in between the two scabbards on his back. “Get up, bard. They’re coming.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“They’re? Wait, what? That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>early.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Please don’t fight them, let me try to get you out of this?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The witcher snorted, and Jaskier rushed to press himself against the outer door. He could hear raised voices in the distance, but nothing was clear. It wasn’t until the beginnings of dusk before the crowd headed their way. Lambert had stood at the ready for hours, but Jaskier had paced and nibbled on the food, and paced some more. Lambert’s stillness, and the slight glow of his eyes in the darkness of the little cell were nearly as unnerving as the distant angry voices. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jaskier could finally see the crowd coming, Lambert pleaded quietly. “Just please. Take them to Geralt.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was all too soon that Jaskier’s very large friend returned and handed him his bags. Jaskier put one on, but held the lute by the neck. When it was clear he wasn’t going to cooperate, he was pulled out of the way. Jaskier shook him off with little resistance, but the crowd was refusing to be swayed, grim faces looking all the more vicious by the torchlight. Darkness was falling, and anger was rising. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was crashing and cursing from inside, and two large men dragged Lambert out. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stop it! He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not feral!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Let him go!” Jaskier continued to try to push in front of Lambert, to get their hands off of him. Lambert growled, but Jaskier had hold of his arm, trying to pry the hand off. “You asked me to help and I did! He’s fine, he’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span> let him go!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It devolved into fists quickly, hands shoving at Jaskier who didn’t flinch at trying to push people apart. There’s screams of murder, and they call the young witcher a freak and a mutant. One calls Jaskier a monsterfucker, gripping him by the hair, and kicking his legs so he’s kneeling in front of Lambert. The biggest one, the angriest one, who keeps punching Lambert in the gut, growls in Jaskier’s ear. “Maybe we’ll kill you first and let him </span>
  <em>
    <span>watch.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Lambert screams at this, “He’s just a goddamn human, I didn’t even know him before you shoved him in there with me. Don’t hurt him!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier is thrown at Lambert’s feet, and he reacts. Lambert turns into a blur- fists flying, punching the two enormous mountains beside him, and Jaskier scrambles to his feet. “Lambert!,” Jaskier begged, trying to shove away the attackers, “Stop, just stop hitting him he didn’t do anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert didn’t see exactly what happened. He’d just gotten punched in the face </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and there was too much blood running down his face. He saw the brilliant heat of a torch incoming when Jaskier stumbled back into him. The bard’s head collided with his, and he scrambled to catch him. There was too much screaming. All he could smell was burnt flesh and he knew it wasn’t him, and just hoped it wasn’t the bard. He pulled both of his swords, baring his teeth. He didn’t need to see to kill, and if someone did what he thinks they did, they all deserved to die. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Steel and silver flashing, it only took him taking down four men before he’d blinked his eyes clear enough to see. The townsfolk had run. He put his foot down on the nearest dead body, a tall, thin man that he remembered calling Jaskier a monsterfucker. He ripped the shirt off of him, and wiped the blades clean. Scavenging coin purses and finding his pack tossed beside the little cell, Lambert finally screwed up the courage to check on Jaskier.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He’d known his heart was beating. Fast with pain, but strong and steady. The bard was still laying where he’d put him down. Unconscious, no scent of blood. Only a heavy, cloying smell of burned flesh. The torch that he’d felt incoming had seared the left side of his face. His eye was shut,and the face badly blistering. There was no healer in this town that would help him, and the nearest was hours away at a dead run. They’d likely try to burn him for the attack here, though. They needed to run. He needed a horse.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He climbed back down into his filthy cell, dragging out a crumpled lump of leather and shoved it deep into his pack. He put both packs and that ridiculous lute on his back, lifted the bard and walked directly into the forest. He tucked him under a low hanging pine tree that almost completely covered him, and shoved the bags in as well. He climbed back out, and vomited in a bush. The smell of burned flesh would never again be something he could tolerate after having seen Aiden on the pyre. Don’t think about Aiden. You failed him, but you can save this one. Don’t think about Aiden. </span>
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  <span>He found a barn at the edge of town, with a big placid horse. He needed something strong and stable for the two of them. He tugged it out quietly, murmuring to it about needing to borrow it. He tacked it up carefully. He found saddlebags, and filled them with the small amount of useful things he found. No medicines, but bandages and bedrolls, camping supplies. They were dusty and unused, but would still serve. He carefully coaxed the horse out into the woods, looking for the blacksmith’s. The shop was dark and empty, but he still waited 10 minutes before approaching. He broke a window carefully, closing his eyes and thanking Aiden again for all the sketchy shit the cat got him into. The blacksmith was the perfect place- He pocketed a large tub of burn cream, and filled another with more bandages. He dug around, finding a sheath that fit Aiden’s sword, and stuffed it on his back again with the others. </span>
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  <span>He was back to Jaskier in under an hour, and the bard was moaning softly. He packed up the horse with all of their new and pilfered belongings, and then tied on their own belongings. It was only then he climbed under the tree and carefully removed the bard. “Sorry, Jaskier. But we need to get farther away before I can deal with your face.”</span>
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  <span>“F-f-fuck.” the bard slurred. </span>
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  <span>“Godsdamn right.” Lambert lifted the bard onto the saddle. He wrapped his left fist in the bard’s shirt, before grabbing the pommel. Even braced like this, the bard nearly toppled, and Lambert pressed close, left arm around him, letting Jaskier’s head loll away from him. It was bad enough he had to wait before it could be tended, he didn’t need to accidentally rub the nasty burn on Lambert or his armor.  </span>
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  <span>He rode for over an hour east, before he found a clearing with a stream. He dragged Jaskier down carefully, leaning him up against a tree. Lambert set up a small camp, relieved to see that they hadn’t yet pillaged his saddlebags. It was quick work to set up a small fire, fetch a pot of fresh water, and get Jaskier situated on his bedroll. Once all the healing supplies were gathered, he poked Jaskier’s chest, startling the bard awake. </span>
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  <span>The bard struggled slightly, one bright blue eye open wide. “This is gonna hurt, I’m by myself, so gotta take you down. Don’t fight, if you can help it. I’m just cleaning and bandaging. He muttered, “Fuckin have to steal all your damn consent away. I’ll apologize later.”  Lambert cast Axii with a grimace, the bard relaxing immediately, calm and pliant. It was by far Lambert’s least favorite sign, so he worked as fast as he could. </span>
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  <span>He held the bard’s head over a bowl, and gently poured cool stream water over his face. Once the bowl was full, he flung the water away into the bushes. He did this twice more, before spreading the stolen burn salve on it. He had to recast Axii, losing it in his own frustration. He wrapped the bard’s head carefully, then looked at him sleeping. It would have to do. He released the Axii with a groan, scrubbing his hands over his face before cleaning up. He was numb, and untacked the horse in a daze. He tied the enormous horse out for the night, and knelt on the bedroll he dragged close to the bard to meditate. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Cruelty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lambert blinked, the soft moan catching his attention. He shifted, leaning over to look at Jaskier. The bard’s face was creased in pain, and shone with sweat. “Hey, wake up.” </span>
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  <span>The bard leaned his head back, groaning. One blue eye focused on Lambert, hazy with pain, all the more startling for the ring of black bruising around it. “The fuck.” He reached up to touch, but Lambert caught his hand. </span>
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  <span>“Don’t. Touch. I’ll tell you, or if you have a mirror I’ll show you. But touching makes it worse, and I need to find you a healer. I really don’t know if you’ll keep that eye. Oh- oh hey, breathe.” </span>
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  <span>Lambert scrambled around, pressing the bard’s hand to his chest. “Come on, follow me.” It was a long few minutes before his breathing calmed enough to hitch out the words.</span>
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  <span>“Tell me.”</span>
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  <span>“Well. Didn’t see exactly what happened, but I suspect that it was the torch that got you.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier snorted, “Yeah. He took offense to being hit with my lute.”</span>
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  <span>“Well, he got you back. Right in the temple, it looks. Singed your hair, but burned your face.” Lambert traced a finger, around his own cheek, up to his hairline. You got lucky, though it probably doesn’t feel like it. Ready for me to look? I’d rather not Axii you again.”</span>
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  <span>“Suppose I must. I think there's a pain potion in my bag, though to be honest I usually just use wine.”</span>
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  <span>Lambert carefully unwound the bandages, inspecting the wound. “We need to rinse it again, and I need you to try to open your eye when we do. It’s going to hurt. We should only be a day or so from Hengfors, you need a healer.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier cried, his fists clenched in Lambert’s shirt, but didn’t resist the washing and redressing of the wound. Lambert didn’t tell him that the eye was already lost, deep red and cloudy. </span>
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  <span>They were on their way again, Lambert propping the bard up against his chest. Jaskier did his best to sit up, but the witcher bullied him into resting his head back on the leather straps crossing his shoulder. “So. Bard. Why the fuck would you jump in front of a damn torch like that, anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard laughed, shaky and wet. “I didn’t exactly think ‘oh yes, a torch, an enormous facial scar would make Geralt love me’. They were mobbing you for something that wasn’t true. I just wanted them to stop. I thought. If all I’m good for is to stop someone else’s pain, I thought that’d be good enough.”</span>
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  <span>“You’ve got to be some sort of a fool. Standing in front of a witcher, trying to take punches meant for someone who heals five times faster than you do. And you got blood all over your lute.”</span>
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  <span>“Well. Just because you heal faster doesn’t mean you don’t hurt, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
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  <span>That night Lambert managed to find a deep enough river to bathe. He helps the bard down the bank, but when he stumbles badly coming back to camp, Lambert catches him and sets him down. “Why does all of your clothes, your bag, smell like Geralt?” </span>
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  <span>“Why were you raging in a cell?” </span>
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  <span>“I guess that’s fair. Come on. Let me rebandage that. Did the cool water help at all?”</span>
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  <span>The peevish glare Jaskier leveled at him almost made him snort. “You gave me a black eye, and I promptly went and got the other nearly burned out. Yes, that’s fair, just wonderful. A cold bath and then dressed in clothes that apparently smell like someone else. Just wonderful, Lambert.”</span>
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  <span>“Well, come on. Eat up. It’s smelling a bit infected, and last I heard there was a healer in the town we’re headed to. I want to leave early, if you can manage it.”</span>
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  <span>“If I can- You know, if you point me in the direction, I can get there myself. You don’t need to be tied down by me.”</span>
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  <span>Lambert looked at him like he’d suddenly sprouted wings, then his face crumpled into a deep frown. “Do you… not want my help?”</span>
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  <span>“That’s not what I said, I just. Geralt always made it very clear the path came first. So if you need to be on your way, that’s okay. You’ve helped me quite a lot.” </span>
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  <span>“Geralt… left you behind when you got hurt?” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier waved him away. “No, no. He’d put me up in an inn or with a healer to recover. Can’t wait around for my delicate little healing constitution when there’s monsters to stab. But look, here, you probably want these back now.” Jaskier took off the medallions, carefully making sure they didn’t snag on his bandages. He tucked them into Lambert’s outstretched hand. </span>
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  <span>This didn’t make Lambert look reassured at all, and Jaskier watched the prickly man stare into the fire, fist clenched around the medallions, until he fell asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
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  <span>They found the healer mid morning, Lambert leaving Jaskier behind as the bard pushed him gently towards the door. “Go be witchery. Heroic. I’m fine.” </span>
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  <span>The elven healer, however, did not agree. Her magic was soft, but digging out the infection that was rooting it’s way into his face made him scream around the bit of leather she’d stuffed between his teeth. The touch of her hands burned like ice, soothing and painful both. It was hours of torment, Jaskier panting and woozy by the end. </span>
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  <span>Finally, she shook her head, stepping back. “The scarring will stay. You’ve lost sight in the eye, of course, but I managed to keep it intact. The depth of the burn was worse than it looked- you should thank your young witcher. Left much longer, or had he treated it differently, you could have been looking at far more extensive damage.”</span>
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  <span>When he reached to touch it, she stayed his hand. “Keep the burn cream on, be gentle with it for at least a week yet. I healed much of it, but not all. Have you seen the damage?”</span>
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  <span>When Jaskier shook his head, she handed him a mirror. He traced the image he saw, burned away hair, and a pale, leathery scar. It started at his forehead, and went nearly down to his jaw, cutting across his cheekbone. She’d managed to heal the eye enough that the loss was less obvious. They matched in shape, the damage on the left luckily not distorting the socket, though a portion of his left eyebrow was gone and the eye was grey and sightless. The right was still ringed with a bruise, clearly not worth the effort to heal when there was bigger damage to focus on. He sighed. There’d be no more court life for him, but taverns may still let him play. </span>
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  <span>Gently, she took the mirror away. “Now. Off with you, go find that witcher boy. No, no. He already paid me, and well. His burn cream was just as good as mine, so these are just some pain potions. Go get your hair trimmed, get some food in you. Leave the bandages off for a little while. Put them back on to sleep. You’ll heal faster, now.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier was gently pushed out the door of the healers, and startled to see Lambert leaning against a tree, carving a little bit of wood. It was a tiny thing, and when the bard headed over, he stuffed it in his pocket. The knife disappeared in a flash, and Jaskier suspected he had many, many knives on him. </span>
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  <span>“Hey, are you good? The town is only a little further, I need to pick some stuff up. Want to ride or walk?”</span>
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  <span>“Do I want- what?” </span>
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  <span>Lambert snorted. “Is this another ‘Geralt says’ things? Get on the horse. They left my bags mostly alone, the only good things those backwards whoresons did. But still, I need supplies, and I’m sure you do, too. I could go with sleeping in a bed after that filthy shithole they stuffed me in.”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier was blindsided at the casual rant, allowing himself to be bullied onto the horse and tugged along like so much baggage.</span>
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  <span>The innkeep glared at them both when they tromped in, but rented them two small rooms in the back of the inn. Lambert immediately took off to the marketplace, muttering about potions ingredients. After he’d gone, Jaskier tried to bargain a performance for food, but the innkeep snarled that he was welcome to try for tips, but that’s all he’d get. </span>
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  <span>So he did try, but the crowd got immediately restless and aggressive, complaining of not wanting to hear a freak or a monster lover singing. Complaints were nothing unusual, but he was stunned when the first glob of spit hit his face. It wasn’t until the half empty tankard of ale was thrown square at his chest, soaking his clothes, that he dropped the lute and fled. </span>
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  <span>Lambert hadn’t taken long in the market. He had the luck of not being as enormous as Geralt or Eskel, more quick to smirk and smile, so marketplaces were less often a problem for him. Still, he was overcharged and it took convincing to get all the supplies he needed. He wanted to go through the mountains, and for that, he needed extra blankets, and dry food and cured meats. </span>
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  <span>He got back to a tavern that was very close to openly hostile, so he packed his purchases away for quick escape. Jaskier wasn’t in his room, though, and the lute was left on the floor in the corner of the tavern. He picked it up, standing in the middle of a pile of thrown food, and a puddle of ale. </span>
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  <span>Holding the lute by the neck, he stalked out the door, heavy eyes following him. It didn’t take long to find Jaskier. He’d fled out the back of the inn, and was curled in a ball just inside the forest line out of sight. </span>
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  <span>“Hey bard. Gonna get eaten by something out here, waste all my effort saving your ass.”</span>
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  <span>“Still don’t know why you did.”</span>
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  <span>“Come on inside, I’ll tell you. And you can tell me what’s got you all pissy. I could use a reason to punch some people.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier followed him back quietly, as Lambert ordered them food, and herded them both into the bard’s room, shoving a bowl into his hands. “So, talk.” </span>
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  <span>“Maybe you should’ve torn my arm off. They won’t even let me sing, they called me a freak. I’ve had shit reviews before, okay? But this was different.”</span>
</p><p>
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  <span>“It’s always different. Why didn’t you leave me to rot in the cell? Let em kill me?”</span>
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  <span>“You know I traveled with Geralt. I know people are cruel.” </span>
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  <span>“They were just cruel to you, bardling. I’m well informed I’m a giant asshole.”</span>
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  <span>“If you’re such an asshole, why are you helping me?”</span>
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  <span>“Guess I was too late to help someone else. Why not help you? It would have pleased him. Besides, that,” Lambert waved at Jaskier’s face, “Could be argued to be my fault. My fault you’re a freak like me, now.” He drew a finger down his own scar. “So. Guess us freaks ought to stick together. I’m planning on crossing the mountains into Kaedwen. Want to come along? Doesn’t sound like you’ve got anywhere else to be awhile.” Lambert kicked his foot, making him smile slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>“Yeah. I guess. No where else to be, right? Help me re-bandage this wreck before bed?” </span>
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</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Tracking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier woke in the middle of the night to the sound of sobbing. With the inn so quiet, even these soft tears were loud. He listened, carefully, before creeping out of bed and tapping his fingers on Lambert’s door. </span>
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  <span>“Fuck off, bard.” Lambert’s voice was soft, and wet, but didn’t sound entirely angry. </span>
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  <span>“Are you sure? I’m told I give good hugs.” </span>
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  <span>“Just fuck off.” He hears sniffling. “Unless you want to pack up and head out now.”</span>
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  <span>“No, no. Just. Standing offer for a hug, okay? Don’t even need to ask.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier curled back up in his own bed, but the sun was a long time coming. </span>
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  <span>------------------------</span>
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  <span>As soon as he heard enough movement downstairs, Jaskier braved his way to the kitchen, nearly falling now that he didn’t have Lambert guiding him. Still, he fetched breakfast and a strong ale for Lambert. He got less glaring with the unsightly pale leather of his burn being covered, and while it frustrated him, he was glad for the reprieve. </span>
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  <span>He was just coming back up the stairs, angry and irritated at how much more difficult it was to not bump into things. He’d just made it halfway down the hall when Lambert flung open his door, startling Jaskier and only Lambert’s quick reflexes saved breakfast. “The fuck, bardling?”</span>
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  <span>“I brought you breakfast?” </span>
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  <span>“You- you nearly made me wear breakfast. Fuck. Come on, my room has a table at least.” </span>
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  <span>They sat together, eating slowly. Lambert watched Jaskier’s long delicate fingers missing their target, and go searching, walking across the plate or table. “You’re going to have to work on that. You spooked because you didn’t see me.” </span>
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  <span>“No shit, really? I can’t see on the side with my blinded eye, that’s just brilliant information, thank you.” </span>
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  <span>“You’re a little shit. No. You’re going to have to practice. Plenty of witchers lost an eye, bard. Look at my face. I got lucky, barely missed mine. Others, not so lucky. Even with the healing. Glad you’re coming with me, be good to train you.” </span>
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  <span>“That sounds fucking awful, Lambert.”</span>
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  <span>“Not as awful as falling down stairs or off a cliff, dumbass. Eat, let’s go.” </span>
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  <span>Lambert shoved Jaskier back on the horse an hour later, and they headed north east. </span>
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</p><p>
  <span>------- </span>
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  <span>It was two days of travel. Two days, Lambert walked beside the horse all day. He helped Jaskier set up the campground, as he was still sometimes unsteady on his feet. Two nights of Lambert gently cleaning and rewrapping the bandages. Two nights of meditating, kneeling across the small fires he kept going. </span>
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  <span>Finally, with the foothills of the mountain in view, Lambert stumbled, cursed, and Jaskier drew the big plowhorse to a stop. “Lambert, get up here.” </span>
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  <span>“Fuck off, bard.” </span>
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  <span>“Lambert, you’re tired. Please. I need your help, and if you’re exhausted, you can’t help.” </span>
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  <span>Lambert groaned, tipping his head back. “Fuckin sniping little shit you can’t see through my goddamn head, what do you want here?”</span>
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  <span>“No, ride behind me. Hold on, you can nap. Then we’re still moving, but you get rest. I’ll wake you up if there’s any trouble. You said we’re going up between those mountains, so I can’t get lost.” </span>
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  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert stood, eyeing the bard, who tipped his head to better see him. “Alright. Budge up.” He swung up behind Jaskier, all three swords on his back rattling. “You sure, Jaskier?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Come on, I can’t keep you from falling like that,” Jaskier grabbed the fingers from his hips and wrapped them around his waist. Lambert was the same height as Jaskier, but broader across the chest. He reached easily around the man’s narrow waist, gripping his own wrists. A delicate hand was placed on top of his. “Put your head down, rest. This may be the largest horse I’ve ever been on, but he’s smoothly gaited and clever. Let me keep watch awhile, okay?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert grumbled, but tucked his head down, resting it on the back of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier hummed a lullaby, smiling to himself. Even despite his grumbling, Lambert eventually slackened, snoring lightly against Jaskier’s back. They walked that way for hours, Jaskier humming song after song, unsure if stopping would wake the witcher. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eventually, Lambert shuddered, squeezing Jaskier, burying his face farther in his back, a small sob escaping. Jaskier shushed him, rubbing a hand up and down his arm, pressing firmly. It didn’t take long, but the witcher slowly wrestled himself back under control. He let go, sitting himself up and sliding his hands from around the bard, resting them on his hips instead. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not that I minded the hugs, darling but I really could use a moment, if you don’t mind.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert sighed. “Yeah, me too. I’m starving though, maybe we should just find a spot to camp.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Down you get, go do your witcheryness.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert huffed a laugh, and patted Jaskier’s leg before sliding down and skulking off into the woods. Jaskier slid down as well, gratefully taking the privacy afforded to him to relieve himself. He waited for Lambert after, feeding handfuls of grass and flowers to the big plow horse. “Don’t judge me, you big lumbering oaf of a horse. I let you be when you needed a moment earlier. I won’t even tell him how you stopped to eat that patch of -”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You stopped?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier shrieked, jumping and stumbling before Lambert caught him. “Ah, fuck, left side. Sorry I’m used to - to… Someone who would have heard me coming.” He finished lamely. He let go, ensuring Jaskier was steady. “I found a clearing a little bit up, but the stream’s far, so I’ll go fetch us water. You set up camp, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>He held out a hand, and Jaskier put the horse’s reins in it. “No, dumbass, your hand. You still stumble a little, don’t want you falling.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh. Thank you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert led him carefully, pulling him along by his right hand. The big horse trailed behind, until they came into a beautiful, tiny clearing. The center opened to the sky, and the deep grass could’ve been a carpet. “Will you be okay? Stay in the clearing, alright? I already piled some wood for the fire.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thank you, Lambert. I’ll manage.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The witcher narrowed his eyes at the bard, but dug a pot and both nearly emptied water skins out from the saddle bags and left. Jaskier untacked the horse with minimal trouble, the big plow horse patient and happy to wait. He pulled the tie line out, and with a little fuss, managed to string it up between two trees before settling the big beast for the night. He rolled out the bedrolls, and carefully piled the wood for the fire, and then promptly tripped over it all, scraping his leg. “Ah, fuck.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He limped over to the bag, taking a few tries to grab the small hatchet, the medical kit and his lute. He was much more cautious walking back around the mess of a fire before sitting back down. He piled it up again, and considered the hatchet carefully. He decided against attempting to split the wood down, and instead rolled his pants up and began cleaning the scrape. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What happened?” Lambert approached from his right, and Jaskier tipped his head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just tripped over the wood, it’s fine.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Leave it, I want to check for splinters before you wrap it.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was almost embarrassing how fast Lambert had the fire started and the rabbits he came back with on to roast. Even before his injury, Jaskier would take two or three times as long. Lambert beckoned, and Jaskier gave him his leg. It was just a scrape, but a nasty one, just above his ankle. Lambert ran a hand up his leg, encouraging Jaskier to lay down, and put his foot in his lap. He obliged, and with the extra light from the fire, Lambert pulled out a few splinters, using a sharp blade to glide along the scrape, guiding them out. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Moments later, he held a hand out, and took the kit from Jaskier before smoothing some salve on and wrapping it tightly. “I think it’s best we stay here a bit. We’re making good time, but I want to be sure of your footing before taking you up the trail.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t want to hold my hand the whole way up?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Want me to hold your dick when you need to piss too?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier conceded the point with a snort. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“First of all, you ever seen a cat hunt?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I fail to see how wiggling my ass will help.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, dumbass, that’s before the pounce. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>hunt.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier shook his head. “Well,” Lambert hesitated, “It sounds stupid, but it works. Ok? Just promise me you’re gonna listen and try. This shit will help. Anyway. Cats, when they’re hunting, they’ll creep and prowl, sure, but the whole time they’re rocking, back and forth, just ever so slightly. Like this.” Lambert made the smallest motion. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“They’ll even do it- just with their eyes. Helps them track, follow movement. It can help you, with distance. We’ll find you a stick, too. Especially over the mountains. Carry it on your left side, it can help you keep track of what’s over there. We’ve got a few minutes til that’s done. Look, let’s try tracking.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert dug around until he found a rock, and tucked it in Jaskier’s hand. “Toss it to me.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He did, and scowled when he missed. “Try the movement, back and forth, just a bit.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>This toss was better, but still. He kept that up before he managed to toss the rock into Lambert’s hands. It was incredibly frustrating, but a clever mechanism. Lambert waved him away, and they sat down to eat. Jaskier played him a few bawdy songs, which had Lambert laughing, but when he went to play one popular for dancing, Lambert looked away. “Not that one. Please.” So on it went. When the fire was low and the stars were bright, they both curled up on their bedrolls to sleep. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was only a few hours before Lambert was crying. The sound was soft and low, and Jaskier wasn’t sure how he managed to wake up. The uneven breathing and shiver caught his attention, though. Jaskier whispered, across the campfire. “Lambert, come here.” The witcher rolled over, gold eyes bright in the darkness, shining even brighter for the damp. He shook his head. They watched each other for a long time before Jaskier fell back asleep. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Precipice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: discussion about suicidal thoughts.  More details in end note.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lambert wasn’t there when Jaskier woke up, but he had left a pot of oats warm by a small fire. The bard was delighted to smell it and see the witcher had even added a handful of dried fruit. He’d happily eaten it and cleaned everything before Lambert arrived back with the enormous horse. “Hey, did you eat? I took the horse to the stream. Found you a stick, too.” He twirled a long, thin branch, making the big horse snort and step away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lambert, that’s not a stick. That’s a tree.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What are trees made of? Sticks. Just wait, I gotta carve it down.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thought you said I’d practice catching today.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We have all day. Now come on. Let’s go for a walk.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Is the trail that difficult?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Would you try harder if I told you it was?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Might complain less.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fucking liar. Come on.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The walk to the stream wasn’t as difficult, with Lambert to his left. It was disconcerting having a conversation with someone you couldn’t see. When they reached the stream, and turned around, Lambert stopped him. He reached out, taking Jaskier’s chin, and titled it toward him slightly. “Try that. Better angle.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And it was. Jaskier still had to walk slowly, and Lambert’s fingers brushing over his elbow, but he made it back without stumbling. Lambert had scooped up a bigger rock on the way, and set about practicing tossing it. Jaskier fumbled to catch any of them, but after the third time dropping it on his foot he stalked off. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert let him go, slipping quietly into the woods. He was gone for a long time, but brought back an armful of greens and a large rabbit. He set to work with the pot, and Jaskier sat and watched quietly. He hadn’t realized how calming it was until Lambert pressed a knife in his hand and gave him a board and some tubers to chop. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They worked quietly, and Jaskier haltingly told Lambert the story of the djinn. From there, and Lambert’s quiet questions, most of both decades are out. It was exhausting, and freeing. Lambert pressed a hand to his arm, and they watched their soup cook.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’s always been like that, you know. Long as I’ve known him. It wasn’t you.” Lambert had the long stick in his lap, and was carving away at it. He’d already removed the top branches. “It doesn’t excuse him. But. He’s always been.” He waved the knife. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier snorted. “I’m going to walk to the stream and wash up.” Lambert paused, eyebrows raised, but Jaskier dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Going to wash my clothes, though. Want me to wash anything?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not unless you want the shirt off my back, bard.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hand it over, then.” Lambert stared. He hadn’t worn his armor all day, so seeing no mockery in Jaskier’s face, he stripped the shirt off and threw it. He fumbled the catch, but cheerfully waved and left. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He was careful, and slow, but he got it all done. He picked his way back to the clearing, laying the damp clothes out on branches to dry. “Soup’s done,” Lambert announced, gesturing with a long knife. “Eat, I’m going to finish this first.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jasker sat and watched him, eating the bowl Lambert had left for him. He was standing now, with the long branch he’d nearly finished carving in his hand. It was about 6 feet long, pale and narrow. He spun it, carved, and spun again. He fiddled with the weight until he was happy how it balanced, then rummaged in his pack before pulling out a long binding of thin leather, which he wrapped two large sections, dividing the staff into thirds. He admired it, off in his own head, a small smile on his face. It was a beautiful sight to watch him carve and perfect it. His skin was far more bronze than Jaskier’s, but it only set off a striking contrast to the scars that littered his frame. He was shorter than Geralt was, but looked just as powerful. His broad chest and slim waist were hidden under all that armor. It was a damn shame, if anyone asked Jaskier. The witcher was graceful in his movements, nearly delicate, though there was no denying the strength in him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Come eat, Lambert.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert startled, as if he was seeing Jaskier for the first time, and scowled. “Yeah, I know, come on. You gotta learn how to pour shit like this, you’ll end up burning yourself. It looks easy, but-” His face pinched again, but he continued. “But you learned with two eyes. One is tricky.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>This was an easier trick to learn, just touching the bowl with one hand while pouring with the other. Jaskier was proud, then angry, to be proud over such a small thing. It took Lambert prodding Jaskier into playing more lullabies and bawdy tavern songs on his lute before the sour mood lifted. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The next morning, Jaskier didn’t get up right away. “Lambert, you know. You know you don’t have to put up with the music. I won’t play if you don’t want me to.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He stopped, frowning, and came to crouch in front of the bard who was laying on his back, staring at the sky. “Jaskier, is this a Geralt-thing?” His face was carefully neutral. Jaskier sighed, and nodded. “I’ve told you. I’m not Kaer Morhen’s favorite son. Not going to lie to you. If I ask you to play, it’s because I enjoy it.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They packed up the horse, who grumbled about it, not wanting to get up from the patch of clover he was happily laying in. “He’s extraordinarily lazy. Where’d you find him?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stole him from a farm.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stole- what?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Needed a horse. Couldn’t carry you and our shit, and that town was shit, so here we are.” It really was reasonable when you put it that way. And so, they walked side by side, Lambert showing Jaskier how to carry the stick, swinging it out to his left to find obstacles and track the edge of the path. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“How am I going to manage this and my lute, Lambert?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t really know. But you will. Maybe you won’t even need the stick forever. But for now, I can help carry it when you want, or we can put stuff on the horse.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier scoffed. “You wouldn’t carry my lute.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t i? It’s pretty neat. Can I pluck at it?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier stopped, startling the horse and just stared at Lambert. “Jask? I won’t- I won’t touch it if you don’t want.” But the bard just held the lute out, eyes wide.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert took it delicately, watching nervously as Jaskier’s delicate hands flitted around his, fitting them around it properly, then showed him how to strum. The bard just continued to look stunned, but slowly smiling as Lambert picked gently at the strings, walking on down the path. He marveled at the different sounds they made, before finally handing it back over. “Thanks. Music was considered unnecessary, so. Never gotten to touch one before. I know music is important to you, but didn’t think this was the thing to make you speechless, Jaskier.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The mountain pass was cold, and rocky. Lambert had Jaskier ride the horse as much as possible, but after the third time Lambert tried to push him back on Jaskier just entwined their fingers together and waved at him to lead on. Jaskier kept hold of the reins, and Lambert insisted on holding his left hand. The staff and lute were both lashed to the horse. As the day dragged on, Lambert finally pointed at a cave, and Jaskier nodded. The mountains got steep fast, and there was a lot of shale. When they finally got to the cave, Lambert held them back and went first to make sure it was empty. It wasn’t, but the mountain lion in the cave didn’t last long at all. One scream, which spooked the horse, and Lambert came out grinning, if not a bit bloody. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Got lucky! Just a little mountain lion. It’ll be a good dinner. Come on.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The poor plow horse was upset by the scent of the lion, even dead, so Lambert had to carry it away before bullying the big snorting beast into the mouth of the cave. He set up the tie line and hobbled him for good measure, while Jaskier set up camp. He held his stick in the curve of his left arm, using it to balance, keeping track of hazards. The small fire was set up in a small ring of stones already at the edge of the cave. There was a small indent the perfect size for a bedroll, so Jaskier put Lambert’s there, and his across from it. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>When Lambert finally trudged back he was grinning, with a lion skin slung over his shoulder. He brandished a few large branches, dumping it all by the yet unlit fire. “Come on, Jask. Bring some clothes. There’s a deep spot in the river around the bend. It’s cold, but nice to wash in. I smell like blood and cat piss, I need a wash. Want a hand?” Jaskier dug out his spare pair of clothes, soap, and tucked the hair oils in his bag. He waved a straight razor at Lambert, who shook his head. “Got plenty probably sharper than that. Come on.” Jaskier leveled an unimpressed glare at Lambert, digging a change of clothes for him out of the witcher’s bags. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier,” Lambert took his hand gently, casually tossing an igni at the campfire on the way. “The cave will be warm by the time we get back.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The deep spot in the river was a tiny lake, tucked inside a well of the mountain pass. The river poured down from the peak of the mountain beside, a small waterfall dropping into the lake. It was stunning, quiet and peaceful. The lake curled around the corner, where he could hear the rushing of water, probably where it continued down the mountain. “Lambert, this is gorgeous.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Cold, but clean and fresh. Just don’t swim out far, there is a current.” He reached for Jaskier’s bandages, “Come here, let’s get this off your face first, you can wash the salve off. Shave later.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Bandages removed and tossed aside, Lambert stripped himself efficiently. Jaskier was floored by the sheer number of weapons he piled beside his armor. He turned away, stripping himself, before wading into the water. “Oh sweet Melitele Lambert I think my balls have frozen completely off.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He scrubbed quickly as Lambert floated around the pool, then grabbed Lambert’s clothes to scrub out as well. “You don’t need to do that, you know,” Lambert’s eyebrows furrowed, when he noticed the bard washing his clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier just scoffed, and finished laying out the wet clothes to dry on the rocks, and sat to wash his own hair. “Come here, I’ll wash your hair for you.” The witcher just eyed him skeptically. “Come on, you’ll like it. Then you can float around like the big hairy otter you are.”  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So he kicked over, settling in front of Jaskier, who worked his fingers through his hair, humming. Finally, he ran a thumb firmly up the back of the witcher’s neck, pressing into the small divot at the base of his skull. “Go on, all clean. Relax a bit longer, I’ll put the meat on.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>---------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The meat was nearly done cooking and the clothes were almost all dry before Jaskier decided he needed to hunt down Lambert. Pulling the meat away from the fire and grabbing his long staff, Jaskier set off in the settling dusk to find him. The staff knocked into rocks, but kept Jaskier walking steadily. Lambert hadn’t gone far, though. As soon as he left the cave, Lambert’s silhouette caught his eye, on a large rock. He was backlit by the bright pinks and blues of the setting sun. He’d been cleaning his armor, which was on the ground by Jaskier’s feet. Still, he climbed up on the rock, carefully reaching out towards Lambert, who looked back over his shoulder and caught the bard’s right hand in his left. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier glanced over at the witcher, and then out at the landscape. The precipice they stood on was a large, flat rock, jutting out over a deep bowl. The valley far below was a stunning dark green, with deep shadows slicing across the bowl. The river crashed through below, a curving slice down the side that slowly disappeared into the trees. The jagged peaks around them made the world look far away small. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I come this way most winters. And any time I stand here, I can’t help but think how much easier it’d be to just walk off the edge. It’s high enough, I think.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He just twined his fingers in Lamberts, squeezing gently. “When I sat on that rock, on the mountain, my first thought was how it might hurt less. I told him I loved him, and he threw my heart, my friendship over the edge. I wished he would’ve thrown me, instead. I’d never have the courage, anyway.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They stayed quiet for a long while, watching the shadows lengthen and sky turn a deep red before Lambert turned and tugged him away. “Come on. Lets go eat.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>---------------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was soft and quiet, bellies full before Lambert beckoned Jaskier over, off the bedrolls. “Come on, bardling. You’re all scruffy.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Maybe I’m trying to grow a beard like you.” Lambert raised an eyebrow, but Jaskier scooted over, sitting in front of him. The witcher’s eyes studied his face, touching the edges of the scarring. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“If you want, I can just clean it up. Might itch less if you just leave it grow. But will it bother you to have all this area bare? My brother has scars here, refuses a beard except in winter.” He traced his fingers along the areas he was referring to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just. Would you take it all off, for now? Maybe I’ll grow it in later but. Never kept a beard before, not sure if I’ll like my face with it.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’ll look ruggedly handsome. Real roguish charm. Maybe it’s the scruff, or the-” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, stuff it, Witcher. Just don’t slice off my nose, don’t want to make this wreck worse.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert sighed, and took hold of Jaskier’s chin, getting to work, carefully tilting his head. “Not a wreck.” He muttered, tilting Jaskier’s head further, carefully shaving around the edge of the scars before working on his neck. The bard just sat pliant, eyes closed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Finally done, they brushed off the mess and went back to their bedrolls. “Thanks, Lambert. Been a bit nervous to try myself.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You would’ve been fine, but I get it. I told you, don’t mind helping. Now go to sleep, bard. Still have a bit of a climb before we start heading down.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier only barely dozed off before he heard Lambert’s tears this time. It was quiet, and if he hadn’t known to listen, he probably would have missed it. He thought about Lambert’s focus on helping him all day long, and Lambert’s confession on the rock outcropping. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>So this time, he didn’t ask. He rolled over, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, and crawled around the fire. He settled behind Lambert, wrapping the blanket around them both. He settled his hand on Lambert’s arm, waiting, asking. It was the smallest movement, but the witcher pressed back, and Jaskier slid his arm around his chest, pressing them together, and just let him cry. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW info: </p><p>Lambert's been suffering from depression for a long time- hating his life. Confesses to Jaskier that whenever he's in this spot, he thinks it'd be easier to end it. Jaskier says he felt similarly after Geralt's rejections (both- heart and friendship), but neither are or will go through with it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Kaedwen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The trip down the mountain was easier, the trail curving out and down along the mountain going south. The trail was full of shale, and more than once Lambert had to stop and guide Jaskier past the worst of it and go back to guide the horse after. He didn’t trust the big plow horse not to lose his footing with a rider on his back. While it was a hard hike, they were off the mountain by the second day. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well, welcome to Kaedwen. About a day to Aedd Gynvael, if you want to sleep in a bed.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“A bed and a hot bath sounds heavenly. I wish I could help out. Maybe they won’t mind an ugly bard here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“This close to Kaer Morhen, most people aren’t bothered by scars. I’m sure it’ll be fine if you want to squawk awhile.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And Lambert was right. Aedd Gynvael was welcoming, and he sang all his bawdiest songs. Lambert sat in a corner with an ale, relaxed and smirking at some of the more ridiculous lyrics. They had to settle for a room with one bed, which made Lambert give him a ridiculous eyebrow waggle. But when they’d eaten and bathed, Lambert fidgeted awkwardly before Jaskier rolled his eyes and shoved him in the bed, clambering up beside him. Lambert still cried, soft and quiet in the dark, but they both slept better than they had in the last week. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The next day on the walk out of town, Lambert had picked up a long leather strap in the marketplace. He walked as Jaskier rode, using his knife and fiddling with his stick for a long while before Jaskier realized he was making a carrying strap for the long staff. It was adjustable so he could carry it across his back while he walked. When he rode it would hang farther down alongside their legs, so not to catch on trees on the trails. Lambert made the bard walk for at least an hour every day, practicing with the stick on flatter parts of the trail, and called it training.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They traveled south around Kaedwen, spending the summer taking contracts. Jaskier did his best singing in taverns, but his heart wasn’t in it. Being the center of attention made his skin crawl. The way people would stare at the scars instead of flirting back had him withdraw more and more, every time he tried. Still, Jaskier insisted on stitching and caring for any wound Lambert got, which the young witcher complained endlessly about. But after every gentle session he’d manage a quiet “Thank you.” Every tavern they managed to stay in, Lambert would watch Jaskier play. He rarely laughed, but Jaskier did his best to make him smile when he could. They annoyed and badgered each other, teasing and poking fun, each trying to make the other smile. Every night Jaskier held Lambert as he cried himself to sleep. Lambert never asked, and would scowl if it was mentioned even in the most vague manner.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>One cool autumn afternoon, Jaskier sat in their room and cried, gasping, trembling sobs, and Lambert rocked him. He took the lute out of his hands, and told him he didn’t have to play, if he didn’t want to. “I just like your company, Jask. We’ll be fine. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” It took weeks before Jaskier would even touch his lute, and even then he’d only play when they were alone and Lambert asked. Instead, Lambert taught him how to tan the furs they carried, how to make potions both for themselves and to sell. They bartered and hunted as they traveled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier even sold his silks when they rode through Ban Glean replacing them with heavier, warmer, and more practical clothing. At first Lambert thought it was a wise choice for the incoming cold weather. However as Jaskier dug through the stack of clothing, he realized the bright little peacock would be too dampened in the dark blacks and browns he himself preferred. So Lambert goaded him into buying white, and taught him how to dye the fabric with plants so he still had bright pink, blue, and even purple shirts. Jaskier was entranced, and took to embroidering his shirts on quiet nights, with delicate flowers along the collars and sleeves. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Then one afternoon walking on a wide road headed south, they saw a rider ahead on a big black stallion. Lambert stretched, and scented the air. “Hang on, Jask!” He booted the big horse into the laziest canter, Jaskier laughing at the war between Lambert trying to hurry the beast along and the horse tossing his head and slowing every few steps. Jaskier had his hands twisted into the shirt at Lambert’s hips, but still nearly falling as the horse bucked in argument against the request for speed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A big booming laugh startled Jaskier as the other rider came barreling up, the big black stallion far better behaved. “Lambert, what ridiculous horse is this, he’s enormous and still utterly useless. He won’t even run for you?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck off, Eskel. On your way up? Going to ride through or you want company for the night?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Company would be just fine, Runt. Not far from Ard Carraigh, or we can camp, up to you. And you can introduce me, is this Ai-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is Jaskier, it’s a story, we’ll tell you when we make camp.” Lambert hissed, his eyes making it clear questions would not be answered. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel raised his hands. “Nice to meet you, Jaskier.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It didn’t take long for the witchers to head off the road and to a clearing both of them had clearly used in seasons past. Jaskier just watched as they worked quickly, stripping the horses and assembling the camp. Jaskier smiled, as they’d toss items to each other with a word, or nudge the other in passing. They were a good team, and it was a sad thing how little time they got to spend together. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Finally, the camp was set, and Lambert suddenly realized Jaskier was still leaning on the tree by the horses, watching them with a small smile. He hurried over, hand out, to help Jaskier towards the fire. “I’m fine, Lambert, I was enjoying watching you two do all the hard work.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah, well. We’re gonna go hunt, any preferences?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ugh,” Jaskier flung himself backwards on his bedroll. “Anything but rabbit, please? So many rabbits.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>As the brothers disappeared into the forest, he overheard Lambert telling Eskel about a tanner who had requested a haul of rabbit furs, which took them a while to complete, but they got both a bag full of cured meat and coin. Even if they were both sick of rabbit now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nearly two hours later, they returned with a large turkey in hand, which Eskel raised for Jaskier’s approval. As they sat around the fire, Eskel quietly prepped the bird. Lambert sat to Jaskier’s right, and bumped his shoulder before speaking quietly, “I told him, a little. Thought you wouldn’t want to.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thank you, Lambert.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel didn’t look up from plucking the turkey as he spoke, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but your eye?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier flinched, and Lambert lunged forward to attack, hissing “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told you</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to bring it up.” He was pulled back down by Jaskier, a hand gently hooked around his arm. He pressed him down, and the younger witcher just growled. He was held down by a delicate hand pressed gently to his left knee, but was nearly vibrating as he growled. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel leveled a flat glare at his brother. “Lambert I suspect I’m a bit more knowledgeable than you are about the etiquette regarding facial scars. Not talking about it, ignoring it? Makes it worse. He can say what he likes, or not.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He touched the scars on his face, still sensitive. “It was a torch. In spring, in the town I met Lambert.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Still hurt, or sensitive now?” Eskel asked gently, while Lambert seethed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh. Sensitive. He found an elven healer, but she couldn’t save the eye.” He rubbed Lambert’s knee, still watching Eskel now putting the large bird on a spit over the fire. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You know, I have a cream that helps with mine. If you’re not careful, the edges dry out. Pulls, and stings. Especially in the winter. I’ll give you some, and the recipe, if you like. Lambert’s quite good, he can make you more with it.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I. Thank you, That. That would be lovely.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Now, we’ve got a bit before this is ready. Do you still play? I’d love it if you did. No pressure.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lambert, be calm. I’m alright. Would you get my lute? I wouldn’t mind playing for him. Bit of a sympathetic audience, you know?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So he did, playing soft and cheerful music, and a few of Eskel’s requests. He played a little song he’d been working on quietly, a soft half finished thing about a black wolf with his foot caught in a trap, that makes friends with a broken winged bird. It was more of a poem than it was a song, but when Eskel quietly placed a bowl of turkey and roasted root vegetables in front of him, he put the lute away. Belly fully, he laid down, and Lambert rubbed his back to say goodnight before going to sit next to his brother. It was moments before he fell into a fast, deep sleep, watched over by two pairs of golden eyes. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You got lucky. Geralt was only a few days ahead of me. I don’t know how you missed running into him.” Eskel dug quietly in his bags handing Lambert a small tub, before Lambert handed him Jaskier’s notebook.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He won’t mind. Write in the very back, easy to find later.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I thought you were bringing the Cat this year, Lam.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert pulled the medallion out from his shirt. “Not coming.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck, Lambchop, I’m so sorry.” Eskel rubbed a hand over his brother’s back. “I thought, with the three swords, but. I’m so sorry. I’ll wait and ride up with you, if you want. It’d be good to be around family.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Eskel- I don’t know if I can. He’s not. Neither one of us are okay right now.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, willing the tears not to fall. “Fuck. I’ll ask him.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“If you don’t go up, why don’t you stay in Ard Carraigh? I’ll volunteer for the trips down, so the bard doesn’t have to see Geralt. I have a feeling you left quite a lot out.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I did. Fuck, I want to punch him.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You always want to punch him.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I want to punch him </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert settled on his bedroll finding meditation a safer alternative to Eskel seeing him weak. Eskel stretched out, taking advantage of the rare instance he could trust someone to watch his back as he slept. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Grounding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Jaskier wakes to find Lambert still meditating and a note from Eskel saying he’d meet them in Ard Carraigh. The little tub of cream was holding the note down, with his journal on top. Jaskier flipped it open to where a small leaf poked out, marking down where Eskel had written the recipe in small, neat letters. There was a small, delicate drawing of a goat on the bottom of the page. Jaskier smiled at the silly artwork, and was just putting his book away when Lambert opened his eyes. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Eskel left breakfast. No idea how he always manages to have the best food. He put jam in the porridge, I think.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier waved a small tub at Lambert, “He left me the cream, can you help? I really need to get a mirror.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert shifted back onto the balls of his feet and uncoiled, stretching tall before crouching in front of Jaskier who sat with his eyes closed, waiting. One hand on his chin, and gentle fingers traced his scar. A moment later, the cream was smoothed in, and the tub in the bag. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So, he left a note saying he’d meet us in town. I’m assuming he took off early because he didn’t want to be here when we talked. Are you leaving with him for winter?” Jaskier’s voice was calm, but his hands shook slightly as he ate. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert picked up the note, frowning at it. “Well. Yeah, he wanted to know our plans for winter. I know you don’t like talking about him, but what did you do every year Geralt came back to the keep, Jask?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sometimes taught in Oxenfurt for the season. Usually to Cintra. Made friends with Pavetta after. Well. You know. Geralt took off and left me behind, so. I stayed on for a while, as the court bard. Was nice, watching. Watching her grow up. Can’t imagine I’d be welcome back. Calanthe is a warrior, but Court still has expectations I don’t meet anymore. Maybe I’ll just get a job in a tavern or something.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eskel was asking if we were going up to Kaer Morhen, and offered to wait for us to go with.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier was quiet for a long time, poking at his empty bowl. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Think about it, ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert packed up, while Jaskier sat with his lute on his lap, quiet. When they were ready to go, he gestured for his walking stick, setting off ahead of Lambert, who had to drag the horse. The big beast found a patch of timothy and had to be shoved to leave it behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took nearly an hour, Ard Carraigh in sight before Jaskier finally spoke up. “I don’t think I can, Lambert. I can’t spend a winter locked up with him.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They walked in silence for a while longer, before Lambert said softly, “Would you stay here? In Ard Carraigh? I always leave first in spring anyway. And. I could be here. In spring, as soon as it thaws.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lambert, are you trying to say you like having company?” Jaskier tipped a smile over his shoulder. He couldn’t see Lambert behind him, but he knew where he was. He was getting much better at tracking Lambert around him from all the training he put him through. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Jaskier.” Lambert called, and the tone startled the bard into stopping and turning around, brows furrowed in question, “I am trying to say I appreciate having a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh.” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, “Oh. Lambert.” Lambert was flushing, looking away, face angry. Jaskier walked over quietly, and squeezed his calf. “Hey. I really appreciate your friendship, too. I appreciate it so much, in fact, you need to scoot your ass up because there were just feelings and I want an excuse to hug you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ard Carraigh was busy, but it was easier on the big horse. Jaskier peered over Lambert’s shoulder as he guided them through the streets, taking them to an inn with a stable. He handed off the big horse to a stable boy, shouldered their bags and gave Jaskier his lute. He offered a hand to Jaskier who shook his head and brandished his stick. “Need to practice.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright. Watch the stairs.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>They went straight in to the innkeeper who, recognizing Lambert, called him over and handed them a key. “Eskel said you might arrive. Vesemir’s here too. Gave ya the big room, but let me know if you need a pallet.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>Lambert waved Jaskier to wait, and he ran upstairs to dump their bags. He came down to find his companion leaning on the bar, stick tucked in the crook of his elbow, talking to an animated young bard. Lambert watched him talk, Jaskier not even noticing how he’d tip his chin to the left, giving him a better view. He slid his fingers along the bar to his drink instead of just reaching for it. The bard would probably be just fine over winter, by himself. Maybe. He still left his blind side towards the room instead against the bar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>He knew he was coming up on the bard’s blind side, so he cleared his throat before touching his elbow. “Jask, I wanna find Vesemir, do you want to come along?” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Oh, certainly, if you’d like company. Who is Vesemir?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Who. Who is?” Lambert pinched his nose, breathing out. “Jask, please come with me. I would like to introduce to you the last elder of the Wolf Witchers, our sword fighting instructor.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jaskier slipped his left hand in Lambert’s elbow. “Lead away, Lambert. There’s a music shop I’ve been told is just up the road I’d appreciate popping into as well.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>When they reached the small music shop, Jaskier gave Lambert a tug. “Hey, why don’t you find them first? I will wait here.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert frowned. “I don’t mind waiting, Jask. Go on, we’ll find them when you’re done.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Jaskier shrugged, and pulled out his lute, placing it in front of the merchant whose eyes widened. “Is this </span><em><span>elven? </span></em><span>I’ll give you 200-” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“That’s insultingly low and you know it -”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert stalked over, nudging Jaskier away from the man, whispering, “</span><em><span>Jaskier what are you doing.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span><br/></span><span>“I was haggling, Lambert, you know how it works, he offers an insulting price, we discuss until I settle on something </span><em><span>fair</span></em><span>.”  Jaskier gives the merchant an insincere smile as they inspected the instrument. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“</span><em><span>Please, Jaskier.” </span></em><span>Lambert whispered, tugging on his elbow. “You can sell it later, if you want. Just. Wait, please? You’ll never find another one like this. I’d never be able to get it back for you. You don’t have to play it, just. Let it sit, it’ll be there for later, or not. As you want.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Like that extra sword you carry?” Jaskier asked softly. He’d noticed- Lambert never used it, never even pulled it from the sheath to clean. He’d attached it beside his other two, but it stayed unused. Lambert nodded. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah, Jask. Like the sword. Come on, you still have to meet Ves.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert took the lute back, and with a little fiddling, slung it across his back. Jaskier smiled, thin and wan. “Gonna lead me again? I guess it is a bit busy for my stick.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah,” The witcher tucked Jaskier’s hand in his right elbow, “But honestly, just whack 'em good in the ankles. They’ll move. That’s why I started with the tree I did- sturdier.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You admit it was a tree!” It was a soft laugh, but with a shake of his head, they set off to find the errant witchers.  </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>---------------------</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You know, I’m sure Vesemir knows someone here, we can get you an apartment for the winter. You won’t have to stay in a tavern.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I can manage, Lambert. I have traveled and lived long before your brother, and music isn’t the only thing I studied.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah, I know. You’re clever and brilliant. Look, they’re up there with the cart.” </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----------</span>
  <span>
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</p><p>
  <span>Eskel was the first to notice Lambert, and nudged Vesemir. “Ves, look. That’s Jaskier.”</span>
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  <span>Vesemir paused loading the cart, stretching to look. He saw the youngest witcher tilt a small smile at the young man beside him, leading him along. It was a strange sight, the witcher with three swords leading what looked like a half blind man in a pale pink shirt. “Not Aiden? Wasn’t Jaskier the bard Geralt-”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>They only had moments before Lambert would be in range to hear them, so Eskel spoke quickly, and low. “Geralt had one of his tantrums, hurt the bard. Wasn’t clear if he was the cause of the blindness though, I didn’t press. Aiden’s dead, Lambert has his medallion. I asked them to come up this year, but Lambert made it sound like Jaskier is afraid of Geralt. Not sure. Just, gentle, alright?” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“I’m not the one with the temper that needs taming, pup.” Vesemir was still scowling when Lambert finally waved. He waited until they were close, and Lambert nudged the bard up against the wagon. </span>
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  <span>“Jaskier, this is Vesemir.” Lambert waved a hand, but Vesemir could see the nerves behind it. The little one wanted something, but was nervous about asking. </span>
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  <span>“Well met, Jaskier. I’ve heard little about you other than your music. I’d love to have a chance to talk more. We’re pretty much done stocking the cart for the first load. Lambert, Eskel said you weren’t sure if you two were coming up? It’ll be a quiet winter with just Eskel and I.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>Eskel was leaning on the cart, smiling as Lambert’s brow furrowed. “Just you two?”</span>
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  <span>“Yeah, there was a message waiting for Ves here. Apparently Yennefer was waiting here for Geralt. He left a note saying he would be in the south for the winter, and the witch portaled them away yesterday, according to the innkeep.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier’s face was ashen, and he wobbled as he clung to Lambert’s sleeve. All three witchers looked at him nervously, which just spiraled his nerves until he couldn’t breathe. “Eskel, take the cart around behind the inn, go get food sorted, we’ll be there in a moment. Lambert, go.” </span>
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  <span>At the mulish look he was given Vesemir crossed his arms and lifted his chin. Lambert left, but not without casting a worried look behind him. </span>
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  <span>Vesemir nudged the young bard backwards, finding a crate for him to sit on before crouching in front of him. “You need to breathe, bard, give me your hand.” He pressed the hand to his own chest, breathing deliberately slowly, guiding the bard to calm. “Tell me five things you see, bardling.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>“The cart? A pigeon. A merchant. A child, your swords.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>“Four you can touch, now.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“This.. crate? My stick. Your armor, uh.. My pants?”</span>
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  </span>
  <span>“Doing very well, pup, keep breathing with me. Three you can hear.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>“Your voice. The crowd? An out of tune bard, ugh.”</span>
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  <span>Vesemir smiled. “Nearly done. Two things you can smell.”</span>
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  <span>“Ugh, horse shit. Is that? Bread?”</span>
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  <span>Nodding, Vesemir gestured with a free hand. “Baker’s just around this wall. One thing you can taste.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“Still the horse shit, really, It burns.”</span>
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  <span>“Better?” At Jaskier’s nod, Vesemir stood, but didn’t let go of the bard’s hand. “Now, my boy tells me you’ve nowhere to go this winter. I plan for all three of my boys, and as the biggest and arguably stupidest one is not going to be here it would not be a hardship at all for you to join us. It will take no extra effort, or supplies, from us. Has Lambert asked you to come up?”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>“Yes. I told him no, but I’d wait here for him for spring.”</span>
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  <span>Nodding, Vesemir looked off in the direction he’d sent the boys. “I think he’ll ask you again. And excuse an old man’s presumption, but I think you ought to say yes. At the very least, give an old man some new conversation for a winter? Let’s go find what trouble these boys have gotten into. I got a room for the night as the mountain is rough and it’s best to start early in the morning. Do you have all you need? From the way Lambert was guiding you I assume your loss of vision was recent.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier flushed, stammering. “Don’t give me that, boy, I’ve raised and trained many witchers. It’s not a judgement. If I couldn’t pick out weakness, I couldn’t train them to compensate for it. I’d be happy to help you as well, though Lambert seems to have given you an excellent start. May I see the stick?”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>Vesemir spun it, knocking it on the ground and wall, inspecting the bindings and strap. He nodded his approval. “With training this can be a decent defensive weapon as well as a tool. Now, let’s go. I need an ale, or three. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----------------</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Dinner was a jovial affair, Eskel and Vesemir both delighted for the company, and Lambert even managed a smile. After enough ale that both Vesemir and Eskel stumbled their way up stairs, Lambert shoved close to Jaskier in their small booth. </span>
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  <span>“Jask, I know you said no. But. Would you reconsider? Now? It’ll be a quiet winter. Come with us, please?”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier sighed. “If Vesemir is sure he won’t return, and I really won’t be an imposition, yes. I’ll come with you.”</span>
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  <span>Lambert bumped his shoulder. “Come on, Vesemir will leave us behind if we aren’t up in time.”</span>
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  <span>It wasn’t until they got up to the room that they remembered no one had asked for an extra pallet. “Just as well,” Lambert muttered, shoving in beside Jaskier, “We both sleep better this way anyway.”</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Climb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Vesemir woke early, and the angle of his bed afforded a view of his youngest still asleep, curled with his face pressed into the young bard’s chest. He was curled around the witcher’s neck, both arms cradling his head, his nose buried in his hair. The bard was coming, Vesemir decided. He reached out, and poked Eskel, who blinked awake almost immediately. He waved to the youngest, motioning for quiet. They put their boots on and slipped out, leaving their armor behind. </span>
  <span>
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  <span>It wasn’t until Vesemir had him outside that he spoke, “The boy’s got to come, Eskel. Did you see any winter gear on him?” </span>
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  <span>He shook his head. “No, I don’t think they’ve much for coin, either. Sounded like he’s not been playing much. Geralt always talked about him as so noisy and constantly singing, but he’s so quiet, Ves.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“Well, you were too after.” Vesemir pointed at a few clothing stalls just opening up.</span>
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  <span>“I think it’s more than that. Hey, look at this cloak. Purple, you think it’ll fit?”</span>
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  <span>The old man scowled at Eskel’s color choices, but they picked up the deep purple winter cloak, heavier boots, a heavy wool vest and a small selection of other warmer and still colorful winter items. They even purchased a bag of embroidery silks, Eskel having pointed out how many of his shirts were decorated. They threw the clothing in the cart, keeping aside the cloak before heading inside. Lambert and Jaskier were already at a table, chatting and eating. </span>
  <span>
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  <span>Eskel held out the heavy wool cloak as Lambert tried to hide a frown. They had just been talking about the bard needing winter clothes, and here he was beaten to it. Lambert took the cloak, nudging Jaskier up and fastening it around him. He needed a better pin for it, but it fit well, and had a deep hood. The bard’s bright blue eye shined from inside the deep shadows of the hood. “How do I look? Oh, it’s beautiful. Thank you, so much!” </span>
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  <span>“Lambert, you about ready to go?” </span>
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  <span>“Yeah, I got lunch,” he held up a bag. “I was going to stay behind a bit to pick up stuff, but it looks like you ran the errand already. </span>
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  <span>“It’s taken care of, son.” Vesemir squeezed Lambert’s shoulder, and the young witcher flushed, looking away. “Now, Jaskier, are you ready for the worst hike you’ve probably ever done?”</span>
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  <span>Eskel laughed, and guided the bard outside, leaning close, “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.” </span>
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  <span>-----------------------</span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>They ended up hooking the cart up to the big plow horse instead of Vesemir’s gelding. Lambert and Jaskier walked, with the lute tucked in the cart for safe keeping. Jaskier alternated using his stick to follow the curve of the path, and using it as a walking stick to help him climb. He refused Lambert’s hand, insisting he needed to get better on trails. He stumbled a few times, but the first third of the trip up the mountain was easy. They had traveled up and down the mountain for so many decades, there were campsites already ready at regular intervals. They were going up the long way because of the cart, but there were still a few areas they would need caution and skill to follow the hidden trails. </span>
  <span>
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  <span>The first night they camped, Jaskier fell asleep almost as soon as his belly was full, much to the gentle amusement of Vesemir. Once the bard was asleep, Eskel and Vesemir peppered Lambert with questions, who shrugged them off before finally losing his temper. “I’m not talking about it all without his permission, knock it off. You know what that dumbass is like, look at how he behaves.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“You can be just as big an asshole, Lambert. But when you’re kind to that bard he doesn’t hesitate to trust it. He wouldn’t even take a gift from me until you took it first. Both times, you accepted it before he would. He looks to you, first.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“You’re going to have to either ask him, or wait until he tells me it’s ok to talk about it.”</span>
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  <span>Vesemir rested a hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “Leave it, Eskel. That is exactly why Jaskier is looking to him. He doesn’t trust us, not yet. Proving we’re trustworthy won’t be a hardship. Now, sleep. I’ll watch tonight.”</span>
  <span>
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  <span>Lambert and Eskel both curled up on their bedrolls grumbling and complaining, as Vesemir settled in to meditate. However, it wasn’t long before his attention was drawn by quiet, tired crying. “Lambert,” Vesemir called softly, “If the bard helps, go to him. Don’t be an idiot. It’s okay to ask for and need help from friends.” When all he got was a growl and Lambert’s indignant sniffle, Vesemir reached out to the bard beside him, touching his shoulder gently. </span>
  <span>
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  <span>Jaskier blinked blearily, confused at the golden eyes looking down at him. “Take your bedroll, go to Lambert. He won’t ask, not yet.” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier swiveled, unsteady and tired to look for his friend. Then, wrapping the blankets around him like a cape, he dragged his bedroll over beside Lambert, stumbling and yawning. Lambert’s wide, afraid eyes watched the bard sleepily curl back up, pushing the witcher into rolling over to press his back to the bard’s chest. Jaskier squeezed him like a pillow, burying his face in the witcher’s neck and falling nearly immediately back to sleep. Lambert just stared at Vesemir across the fire until the old man closed his eyes, going back to meditating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning saw Jaskier wrapped nearly completely around Lambert, who had to pry him off. “Lambert it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold.” </span>
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  <span>“Then hurry up you great leech! You’ll warm up with food.” Lambert wrestled his way into standing, but Jaskier didn’t let go until bribed with a hot cup of tea from Vesemir.</span>
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  <span>“Come sit next to me, Jaskier. The boys can ready the horses, we’ll sit by the fire a bit longer.” </span>
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  <span>It was sooner than Jaskier liked that he had to give up his blankets, but he bundled up in his heavy cloak and set off on foot again. Lambert strayed far off the path, disappearing for a few hours before tossing two braces of rabbits in the cart. He touched Jaskier’s left arm before speaking, “The path from here out starts to get steeper, Jask. Be careful.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>They ate an easy lunch of dried fruits and meat as they walked, Vesemir worried about the start of the snowfall. It was early, but the winter in northern Kaedwen was unpredictable. This could just be a dusting, or it could be the storm that closes down the pass. </span>
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  <span>As the day waned and dusk started approaching, Eskel gave a short, sharp whistle. Vesemir and Lambert stopped short, scenting the air, as Lambert pulled Jaskier close to him. Vesemir was farthest up on the trail, leaving a wide berth for Jaskier to walk with his stick. Behind the bard, Scorpion walked pulling the big plow horse on a lead line. The enormous beast was happy to follow behind the big stallion. Vesemir dismounted, sword drawn and waiting as Eskel dismounted behind them, watching the distance. </span>
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  <span>Vesemir called back, “How many?”</span>
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  <span>Lambert growled, pulling a sword. “Jaskier, if anything happens, get on Scorpion and run. He knows the way.” </span>
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  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaving you behind</span>
  </em>
  <span>, are you short a marble? I have this… brilliant stick. I can poke them with.” </span>
  <span>
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  <span>
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  <span>And then, they were surrounded by howls, a melody deep and terrible. The plow horse tossed his head, but only succeeded in pulling Scorpion back up into him, pinning the beast between the cart and his bulk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The glowing eyes crept from the bushes, surrounding them. Bright flashes of igni flared behind Jaskier from Vesemir driving the wolves around, breaking the circle. Howling snaps and cries told of Eskel driving them around the other direction, both men cutting down the ones brave enough to attack. Lambert dove in, sword flashing. He spun and cut them down without pause, and when one particularly nasty warg dove at his shoulder he roared, ripping the creature off of him with one hand, tearing its bottom jaw off. Suddenly the three witchers stood a wall between Jaskier and the devastated pack of wargs, who snapped and snarled. </span>
  <span>
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  <span>“Down!” Eskel roared and unleashed a massive blast of Igni, burning bright in the sky. Vesemir had twisted a retreat, out of the flame’s reach. But as Lambert went to duck, an enormous warg leapt in the space left free from Vesemir. It howled and dove for Jaskier, and Lambert scrambled in between them, snatching Jaskier to his side and casting a Quen that the snarling beast bounced off of. Eskel had seen Lambert’s dive, twisting with powerful open swing to behead the beast as it leapt at the golden shield for a second attack. </span>
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  <span>Vesemir whistled from the far side of their small caravan, and after a quick scouting, Eskel whistled back. It was only then Lambert dropped Quen, whistling as well. Eskel and Vesemir busied themselves gathering up the dead wargs and gathering potion supplies before Eskel incinerated them with controlled Igni bursts. When Lambert let go of Jaskier to stand on his own, he crumpled, the witcher dropped his sword to catch him. He guided him to a log before kneeling to check him over. “I’m fine, I’m fine, just my ankle!” Jaskier batted Lambert’s hands away, but the witcher knelt at his feet, pulling off a boot gently. “Didn’t you get bit? Why aren’t we checking you?” Jaskier’s hands picked at Lambert’s armor. Lambert took his hand and slid it under his heavy armored coat. </span>
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  <span>“It didn’t even manage to bite through, Jask, see? Be calm.” </span>
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  <span>Finally finished with warg disposal, Vesemir came over and picked up Lambert’s sword, cleaning it off. “How is he?”</span>
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    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert slipped Jaskier’s boot back on. “Fine, just needs to stay off it a few days. Twisted, I think.” Vesemir nodded before handing back his sword with a raised eyebrow. The young witcher cringed, replacing it in his scabbard with a quiet “Thanks.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just stumbled.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel took Jaskier’s left hand, standing him up. The bard balanced with his right hand on Lambert’s shoulder for only a moment, when Eskel swiftly scooped him up in his arms. Jaskier let out a squeak, as he hadn’t seen the movement coming. The big witcher carried him over to Scorpion, settled him on the big horse, and patted his leg with a wink. “Then you’ll ride. We still have half an hour to go to reach the next camp. We’ll get there before dark, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier scowled and kicked out gently. “Warn me next time, it’s not fair to attack me where I can’t see you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert walked up, pushing his big brother over slightly and handed Jaskier his stick. He had the rabbits in his other arm. “We’ll go on up ahead. Next camp is a cave, we’ll make sure it’s clear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right Eskel?” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vesemir watched the exchange quietly, until they ran ahead. He brought his big horse around to walk closer to Jaskier. “Let’s go. They’ll have the campfire ready. Tomorrow is a bad climb, I was going to suggest you ride one of the horses for it anyway.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can walk, Vesemir.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There’s a trail that loops around the keep, the trainees used to run. We’re heading up part of it tomorrow. There’s a reason they called it the Killer. If young well trained witchers call it the killer, best not risk a stumble, Jaskier. It’s not a judgement on your competence.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It didn’t take long for them to reach the cave. When they came in sight, both boys loped over. Lambert untacked the big plow horse, as Eskel helped Jaskier down. Lambert watched as Eskel made a point to stay on Jaskier’s right, asking before picking him up to carry him to the campfire. Vesemir just shook his head, untacking his own gelding before joining Jaskier at the campfire. Clearly being left to the horses, Lambert settled them down for the night, taking them to the nearby river one at a time for a long drink. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Bellies full of roast rabbit, Jaskier curls up on his bedroll, falling asleep quickly. Vesemir watched his boys watch the bard. He shook his head. They’d have to figure it out themselves. He rolled over, determined to ignore them and sleep. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eskel, just sleep. I can watch tonight.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sleep.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>--------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>This morning was even colder, and the ground was covered with a few inches of snow. The fire was still high, Lambert having kept it going all night. Eskel took the horses to the river and tacked them up, Vesemir came and sat next to Lambert as they left Jaskier sleeping. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’s going to have to ride. Is he able to ride with Eskel?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ask him.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lambert, you know what I’m asking.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I don’t know, Ves. Not that he’s said, but he never had a problem with me, even when we first met. But. Don’t know.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well, if he won’t ride with Eskel, you two can take my horse.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’ll be fine, Ves.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m glad you know that enormous beast you bought is fucking useless.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stole him. Same town that blinded him.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Vesemir just hummed. “Get him ready, Eskel’s near done. I’ll fill up the water skins.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Alone in the cave, Lambert crouched down next to Jaskier, sleeping curled in a ball. He shook his shoulder gently. “Hey, time to get up. Did you sleep with your cloak like I told you to?” Jaskier blinked, processing the wake up before nodding. “Well wrap up, it’s time to get going. I left your boots near the fire, they ought to be warm.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier yawned. “So today’s the worst of it?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’d be best if you were on horseback. I’ll put your stick in the cart for now. You mind riding with Eskel? Scorpion’s the best horse we’ve got.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh. I suppose not. We can’t ride ours, can we?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Even if Vesemir’s horse is pulling the cart, I wouldn’t trust him. He’s not the most surefooted beast.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That’s fair. But would you help me up on the horse instead? I just.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Would you rather ride behind him?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m assuming it’s safer if I don’t. It’s okay, Lambert. Lets... just get there, okay?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We might need to camp one more night if the going is too slow. It won’t be fun, that one’s high up, the wind is bad.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier limped along, Lambert bracing him until he slipped on the snow, the witcher catching him around the waist and swinging him up into a bridal carry. “Well, that went well. Want to try again?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier just went limp, his arms and head hanging. “Ughhhh”. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert made as if to drop him, smirking at the squeal and grip around his neck. “Come on, Jaskier.” He hefted him back up and onto Scorpion before going back to clear up the last of the camp. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was quiet, and only slightly flinched when Eskel swung up behind him. The path was steep and hard, Vesemir taking the lead, and Lambert behind, leading the big plow horse. Eskel rode in silence, perfectly aware his proximity made the bard nervous. He did his best to touch him as little as possible. Finally, Vesemir called for a break as they reached a switchback. Eskel swung down, and looked up at Jaskier. “You and Vesemir will ride on alone. Lambert and I will get the horse and cart up the trail.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Vesemir handed Jaskier a hunk of bread, and waved him on. “Eskel will walk behind the wagon, so he can lift it when it gets caught. The trail is narrow in some places, and that is a very stupid beast.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It took a long time, but they managed to get the cart up the switchbacks. At the top, both Lambert and Eskel sat on the ground, breathing hard and heavy. After a while, Vesemir swung down. “We’ll make camp at the ridge. Mount up, boys.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel leveraged himself up, and then pulled Lambert to his feet. Lambert swung up on Vesemir’s horse, offering the old man a ride behind him, but was waved off. Eskel waved off a ride, murmuring at Vesemir that he didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable. Jaskier blushed at that, and called him back. “It’s fine, Eskel, really. It’s not you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert looked sharply at Jaskier, “Is it a-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes and no, Lambert, it’s alright. Not in the way you think. I just keep expecting Eskel to yell at me.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel flinched, “I’m not going to.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier sighed. “Come up here Eskel, and talk to me. Then you won’t seem like him, quite so much.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>All three witchers tensed, but Eskel swung up behind Jaskier. His low voice rumbled against Jaskier’s back, as his arm curved around Jaskier to hold the reins, and his other hand rested on his own thigh. “It’s only a few hours to the camp, but it’s on a ridge. The wind is brutal across the front of the cave, but we won’t make it up before nightfall. We’ll tuck you in the back. You sleep better with Lambert? Or just not alone? Regardless, we’ll do our best to keep you warm, but we’ll be in Kaer Morhen tomorrow.”  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel kept on his quiet, soft rambling as they walked, and eventually, Jaskier reached over, and picked up his free hand and held it quietly. Eskel glanced down, but didn’t stop telling Jaskier about the trail, the keep, even about the flowers along the path. As the sun dipped lower, the shadows lengthened and Jaskier dozed off. Eskel caught him gently, pressing him back with a hand against his chest. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Once they arrived in the cave, Lambert and Vesemir set up quietly, until Lambert gently took Jaskier from Eskel’s arms. The bard grumbled, waking when Lambert shifted him down to the bedroll. “Just rest, it’s late. Took far longer on the switchback than usual. The big dumb horse we have is extraordinarily slow. Can you stay awake long enough for food? Or do you want something from the pack?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just sleep, Lamb.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The lad’s fine, let him sleep. I’ll feed him if he wakes. Both you boys go curl up next to him, he’ll need the heat.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They tossed another bedroll beside Jaskier’s, and both Lambert and Eskel curled up on either side of him. Jaskier buried his face in Lambert's chest, clinging to him. The witchers covered him with the blankets and their cloaks. Vesemir built the fire up a little more, and knelt in front of it, pulling the hood of his cloak down low, to meditate and stand guard through the night. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Forget Me Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TAD lyrics, because I am weak and Jaskier, ok?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eskel woke to Vesemir shaking his foot well before the sun was up. Another six inches of snow had fallen. Eskel rolled away, tucking the blankets down as he did to avoid any heat loss. They tacked up the horses, this time hitching Vesemir’s gelding to the cart. The way from here was mostly flat, but the blowing snow and wind meant the temperature was dropping fast. <br/><br/>Lambert crept out of the cave, cursing and kicking the snow. “Heard you two moving around. Look that bad, Ves?” <br/><br/>“The last three inches have snow have only fallen in about an hour. We need to go, wake the bard.” <br/><br/>Jaskier grumbled sleepily, but submitted to being carried to the big plow horse. Eskel nudged Scorpion close, and helped Lambert arrange the blankets and cloak to keep the bard covered, his face turned and hidden in his deep purple hood. Vesemir climbed up behind Eskel. “Let’s go, boys. I don’t want to be stuck out in this.” <br/><br/>The last of the climb was brutal- the snow piled down, but Scorpion plowed through the quickly deepening snow steadily, making way for the two horses behind him. He knew the way home, and it was only a few hours to get there. Jaskier shivered awake as the sky just started to lighten, startling and flailing to find himself on horseback. Lambert pressed him back against his chest hard, “Jaskier, it’s me, we’re halfway to the keep. Just hang in there.” They rode on in grim silence, the horses’ heads down, trudging on. <br/><br/>Then they turned, exiting the dim forest trail onto a broad meadow. The sun was a bonfire, peeking between the mountains. The keep itself still cast long shadows, but the bright orange rays of sunshine shattered across the deep snow. The pale blue, nearly cloudless sky was the perfect background for the towers and walls of the snow covered keep. The snow reflected the light up, making even this old battered keep beautiful. Jaskier couldn’t help the gasp, he’d seen paintings of castles that were less beautiful. The damage only added to the stark, honest strength of the walls before him. <br/><br/>But as he was entranced, he felt the shaking of Lambert behind him. Lambert dropped the reins, wrapping himself around Jaskier, burying his face in the bard’s cloak, sobbing. Jaskier tried to turn, to hug him back, but between the blanket, cloaks, and the iron grip, he couldn’t move. The best he managed was to press himself farther back into his friend, one hand wriggling to hold a wrist, before nudging the beast he was riding to go just a little bit faster. <br/><br/>They were inside the walls within half an hour, but Lambert refused to move until Vesemir squeezed his knee. “Take the bard inside, Lambert. Eskel and I will take care of the horses. Come on.” <br/><br/>Lambert lifted his head to glare mulishly at Vesemir, but slid down. “I can help, it’s fine.” <br/><br/>“It’s fine for you, not for him. Go light the fires.” </p><p> </p><p>Eskel handed Jaskier his stick and a wrapped parcel. “We bought you winter gear, but didn’t think to make you wear it before we left. Didn’t really expect this much snow this early. Our apologies.” <br/><br/>“We can help, Eskel. My ankle is sore but I should be fine if I walk slowly. What can I do?” <br/><br/>“Well, everything needs to be carried inside. Grab what you can, Lambert can lead the way. Be cautious, I don’t know if there’s any ice.” <br/><br/>Jaskier swung his lute over one shoulder and the saddlebags Vesemir had already tossed off of their big horse on the other. Lambert took Scorpion’s saddlebags around his neck, and two big burlap sacks. “Let’s go, Jask. Kitchens first, then we’ll light the fires in the bedrooms.”  <br/><br/>Eskel nodded as they walked away, busy with the horses. <br/><br/>------------------ <br/><br/>The kitchen was a huge, wide room, with a large open fire place that connected the room to an open dining hall on the other side. Lambert dropped the sacks on the table before lighting the fire with a few stacked logs and a quick Igni. “Come on, let’s start with Vesemir’s room. It’s closest.” <br/><br/>They lit the fires in Vesemir’s and Eskel’s rooms, Lambert slipping inside. Vesemir’s was closest to the kitchens, and Eskel’s were next. He left Eskel’s saddlebags in his room, and took his own off Jaskier’s shoulder. “Geralt’s room is at the end of this hall. I’m upstairs.” <br/><br/>He held his hand out to Jaskier, who slipped his long stick over his shoulder with his lute, and wrapped cold fingers around Lambert’s. The stairs curved up and around, letting them out above the kitchens. Lambert paused near the door of the first room, taking a deep breath, before leading Jaskier on to the next door. They slipped inside Lambert’s room, the cold of the long empty room sharp and biting. He lit a fire, dropping the saddlebags on his bed. <br/><br/>“We can find you a room wherever you like. I like this floor, though, look.” He took Jaskier’s hand again, and pulled him out a big door hidden behind a heavy tapestry. “This keeps the wind out, the door is drafty.” It was a long walk along the outside of the keep, with a view over the back wall up the mountain. All you could see was the mountain range curving up to hug the keep, rising tall behind and around- the keep walls curving away behind.  <br/><br/>“This is beautiful, Lambert.” <br/><br/>“Yeah. Well.” <br/><br/>“Would it be intruding if I asked if there’s any more rooms along this way? If you want space, we can find a room farther away. Just. This view is <em> beautiful </em> .” <br/><br/>Lambert paused, looking at his hands. “I already cleared one. For.” <br/><br/>“Lambert, I won’t take that room from you. Help me find a different one and we’ll clear it together. Ok?” <br/><br/>They found a room two doors down from Lambert, and were sweaty and tired clearing it out when Eskel found them. "Need help?” <br/><br/>“Need to sort his fire out. Help me shake out this mattress. Feathers don’t smell moldy but it needs a good dusting.” <br/><br/>“Alright.” He disappeared momentarily before coming back with an armful of wood, clearing out the flue with a quick Aard. He tossed the wood in the fireplace and a tiny Igni flared it to life, before turning to help Lambert who had been shaking out furs outside. They wrestled the big mattress outside, pounding against the outside keep wall. They took out the rest of the furs and heavy draperies, pounding the dust out of them as well while Jaskier swept the room and rearranged all the cleaned furs. Vesemir showed up with a small cart full of firewood, which he stacked high in a corner. <br/><br/>“That’s good enough, boys. The room is clean. The stew should be done by now, let’s go eat. We’ll all sleep well, tonight.” <br/><br/>Dinner was a quiet affair, all of them tired. The keep was still cold, and they huddled together, pressed close to the big kitchen fire. Soon, Eskel stood to wash the dishes, and they all headed to their rooms. </p><p> </p><p>“Lambert-”<br/><br/>“I’ll be okay, Jaskier. Go sleep.” <br/><br/>--------------- <br/><br/>The early days blended together, the witchers all doing their best to patch the worst of the holes that Vesemir couldn’t get done alone over the warmer months. They worked with every moment of daylight they had, and Jaskier took to the kitchens making sure there was always food ready for them. He was very grateful for all the time he spent hiding in the kitchen as a child, learning to bake bread. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel brought up firewood in the evenings as Lambert hid in his room. He filled the entire corner of Jaskier’s room, growing more and more concerned at the bard’s continued quiet. As far as he’d seen, the lute hadn’t been touched. Lambert hadn’t cracked a single joke. They both seemed to be wraiths, barely existing. He followed Vesemir to his room after dinner one night, the older witcher just raised an eyebrow and poured him a glass of wine. <br/><br/>Vesemir settled in the chair in front of the fire, and Eskel sat, cross legged at his feet, staring at the fire. They sat together, quiet for a long time before Eskel murmured. “Ves, it’s like he’s faded.” <br/><br/>“Give them time, Eskel.” <br/><br/>“I’m worried, though.” <br/><br/>“So am I.” <br/><br/>----------------- <br/><br/>Halfway through the third week Jaskier couldn’t sleep, so he slipped out the door hidden by the heavy tapestry. He stood on the walk, looking over the mountain. It was the deep of the night, dark so black the stars were bright sparks. He climbed up and sat on the wall, looking past his dangling feet down at the deep well of shadow below him. The forest floor was too far below in the dark to see, the trees inky black smudges. He tipped his head back, staring at the sky, wondering if he’d appreciate the sight as much if he still had both eyes. He hummed a tune, listening to how the clear winter air let his voice sound clear and sharp. He no longer felt comfortable singing for a crowd but music was in his blood. He sang, quiet and low and mournful, into the dark. <br/><br/><em> Got a headache that just won't shift </em></p><p>
  <em> Would have stayed if you'd had asked </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But instead you just walk past </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Maybe sure I'm out of my depth </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can't dance but I just can't accept that </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Never say how much you missed her, </em>
</p><p><br/>He startled when a fist clenched in the back of his shirt, holding him steady while pulling him back slightly. “Godssake, just say something, Jaskier.” <br/><br/>“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you, Lambert.” <br/><br/>The witcher pressed his head between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. All Jaskier could smell was white gull. “Thought you didn’t have the courage.” <br/><br/>“I don’t. Singing just lances the pain, sometimes.” <br/><br/>“Sing something, then. Lance this.” Lambert’s voice was broken and choked, thick with tears. <br/><br/>Jaskier was quiet, for a moment, before he sang softly. <br/><br/><em> And in years to come you’ll wander  </em></p><p>
  <em> To the place up on our hill  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then you’ll cry to our painted sky  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I loved him then, I love him still’.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And you’ll strew some sage and lilies ,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And roses where I rot  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of all the flowers you picked,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I knew you would forget  </em>
</p><p><em> Forget-me-nots. </em> <em> <br/><br/></em></p><p>Lambert snorted, a wet laugh. “Come on. He was supposed to be here, this winter.”<br/><br/>“So, let him be. Come on. Tell me all about him. He’ll be here, with us.” <br/><br/>They slipped back into Lambert’s room, hand in hand, where Lambert shared the wine he’d hidden away and he talked well past dawn. He talked of meeting Aiden the first time, the Cat getting the drop on him in the woods. He tells about their travel, the first time the Cat cornered him after a particularly bad hunt. The Leshen was far older and more dangerous than they were told. Both bloodied and injured, Lambert got what would be a brand new scar on his face and was barely able to walk. Aiden lost a sword and nearly his life. But the Cat pressed him against a tree on his way back to the room they rented, grasping his face and ferociously kissed him. He hissed, promising if Lambert ever dared come so close to death again, the Cat would kill him himself. <br/><br/>It was story after story of jumping straight into danger with nothing but a smirk and a beckoning finger from bright green eyes. About the whirlwind of flashing blades that saved his life, that stole his heart, and once swapped medallions with him for a season, playing a continent wide game of hide and seek before Lambert stole it back. They loved each other fiercely, and forty years passed before they knew it. This year they both had decided that love was worth running to, and Aiden was meant to spend the winter in the room beside Lambert’s for the first time. <br/><br/>Lambert talked until his voice was hoarse, cried dry of tears. Eventually, Jaskier took his boots off and tucked him under the blankets and furs before putting another log on the fire and climbing in beside him. He pulled Lambert close, letting the witcher rest his head on his chest, running fingers through his hair until they both fell asleep. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Songbird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More songs. Not sorry.  (Wardruna, this time. Translations at the bottom.)<br/>Really frustrated by this chapter, so I'm just putting it here now and moving on. Fuck it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier had spent most of the first month in a daze, still not quite believing his welcome in the Wolf keep. He only sang in the deepest of night, in his seemingly private walkway behind the keep. He sat with Lambert, curled under a blanket, head tipped back to the stars and sang poems, and small melodies. Lambert just kept his eyes closed, a hand buried in Jaskier’s hair, or twisted in his fingers. Sometimes clinging to the back of his shirt, if he sat on the wall. <br/><br/>It was only by accident Eskel heard him- he was up late, restless, unable to sleep. After three weeks, something changed, and Jaskier had started dragging Lambert everywhere with him. He’d usher him into the library, or nudge him along to the table. Cups of tea were slid in front of him at dinner instead of ale, and more than once he walked in the hot springs to see Jaskier washing Lambert’s hair, or Lambert carefully shaving the bard’s face. He wasn’t sure if these were private moments, oftentimes his brother’s eyes seemed too distant to be actively participating. Jaskier had spent the evening in the library, haltingly talking to Vesemir. The old man had been gently asking about the bard’s songs, but the bard still refused to talk much about Geralt. <br/><br/>So Eskel stayed up, pacing in the kitchens, then out to the courtyard where he shoveled the snow away to keep himself busy. He walked the outer walls, in the deep of the night before the echo of a sad, lonely voice made him pause. It wasn’t until he walked around to the North tower could he look down and see Lambert and Jaskier. The bard was perched on the steep outer wall, leaning slightly forward. He was singing what sounded like an old elven song, with rich long notes, a song of a lost home, a lost hope, a broken heart. <br/><br/>Lambert looked to be kneeling, wrapped around the bard’s waist. He watched the bard sing, and sing. Songs of loss and hurt, little slips of songs that sounded like poetry. The deep snow and the curve of the mountains made the sound clear and beautiful. It didn’t take long before Lambert pulled Jaskier back over to safety, and ushered them into Jaskier’s room. <br/><br/>The keep had a songbird. Geralt said his bard squawked constantly, and if that’s what his singing was like, Eskel would do just about anything to make it continue. He wandered back to his room, wondering how he could get him to sing during the day. <br/><br/></p><p>The next morning at breakfast, Eskel asked Jaskier if he’d tried the acoustics in the hot springs. Jaskier froze, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” <br/><br/>Vesemir frowned deeply, and to that Lambert grumbled. “It’s a Geralt thing, Jaskier.” <br/><br/>The bard looked at his hands before softly replying. “Yes, I have. It has wonderful acoustics.” <br/><br/>Vesemir and Eskel glanced at each other. “What does it being a ‘Geralt thing’ mean, Jaskier?” <br/><br/>Lambert looked at Jaskier with tired eyes. “I told you they’d ask eventually. Just tell them. They know him.” <br/><br/>Jaskier’s face paled, but he continued, still looking at his hands. “Geralt doesn’t like things. If you want him to stay happy, you must be quiet, not flirt with people in towns, be up at the same time as him in the morning. If I got hurt I was generally left behind at the healer. Sometimes just left in towns. Or at a campsite. Sometimes I could play music as I walked but mostly no.” <br/><br/>“Walked? What happened to Roach?” Eskel blurted. <br/><br/>“ <em> Jaskier </em> walked. He wasn’t allowed to touch Roach. S’why he was so nervous on Scorpion.” <br/><br/>“I rode Roach, once!” <br/><br/>“ <em> Bleeding to death on the run to a healer doesn’t count.” </em> Lambert hissed, before he got up and stalked away. <br/><br/>Vesemir’s eyebrows were raised. Jaskier sighed. “Djinn. He wished for peace. His peace meant me, silent. The djinn figured dead was silent. He fixed it, though. Then wished himself attached to a witch.” <br/><br/>Once he started talking, though, the words started tumbling out. Twenty years of hurt, drained. By the time he was done, Eskel had already made him his third cup of tea and Vesemir moved to sit next to him, rubbing his back gently. Vesemir could see Lambert’s eyes, glowing in the far dark of the hall. He was watching, and listening. But he was letting them handle this one. It was a test, a show of trust. He already knew these stories, and he wanted to know what they would do with them. <br/><br/>Vesemir murmured, “On the mountain. You were telling him you loved him, weren’t you?” <br/><br/>Jaskier coughed a wet laugh. “Yes. It’s alright. I think it’s burned out of me. Feel a bit hollow.” <br/><br/>“A fair description, pup.” </p><p> </p><p>“I left <em> him </em>, though. For all the times he left me behind, in Cintra, at healers, campsites when I woke too late or he tired of me. Towns he decided not to stay in. He left me behind, over and over, but this time I left him. I guess I tore my own heart out.” </p><p> </p><p>Eskel stood, with a hand out. “Come. You said you liked the sound of singing in the springs, right? Come wash all that pain off, and sing. We would be happy to listen, or stay away if you need privacy.” <br/><br/>“A good enough reason as any. Will you bring Lambert? I’ll sing the Skelligen song he likes.” <br/><br/>Half hour later, Jaskier was washed, wrapped up in a towel on a rock he’d found to be the best spot on previous trips with Lambert. Lambert lay at his feet, flat on his back, a towel over his waist and an arm slung over his eyes. Vesemir lounged in the pool, but Eskel sat on the edge in a towel, leaned back on his hands. <br/><br/>Jaskier hummed for awhile, before peering at the older witchers. “It’s better with a drum, I think. Maybe another time.” <br/><br/>Then he began a surprisingly deep song. He started off with a humming beat. Then without hesitation, his voice, rich, deep and powerful resonated through the cave. The melody repetitive and rich, and the clarity and acoustics make it sound as if he wove a spell around them. It was clearly an old song, and Lambert hummed along in bits, tapping his chest. <br/><br/></p><p>
  <em>eg manar deg inn i berget blå<br/></em>
  <em>der korkje sol ell måne skin deg på<br/></em>
  <em>eg maner til skogen der ingen bur<br/></em>
  <em>og til den sjø som ingen ror<br/></em>
  <em>djupt under jordfast stein<br/></em>
  <em>til ingens mein<br/></em>
  <em>gjønom elva renna<br/></em>
  <em>havet venda</em>
</p><p><br/>He didn’t sing long, clearly not the entire song by Lambert’s peering concern. He made a questioning noise, and Jaskier just shook his head before looking at Vesemir. “It’s not a song fit for courts, and won’t make money in taverns. Geralt hated me singing, so any singing I <em> did </em> do was just composing songs to play for money. Been a long time since I sang for an audience.” <br/><br/>“I’m not an audience?” Lambert peeked at him again. <br/><br/>“No, Lambert. You don’t count as people, and you know it.” <br/><br/>“Proud of it.” <br/><br/>“I’m going to go, though. Need to breathe. Thank you, for letting me sing. For listening.” Jaskier left, dressing and wandering back to his room. <br/><br/>“ <em> The fuck you mean not people.” </em> Vesemir hissed. <br/><br/>“Calm down, old man. Know those days when you just don’t wanna be around people? Hide in your bed, fuck the world, don’t want to be around anyone? Just means that even on those bad days, he can be around me. He’s not people to me, either.” <br/><br/>Eskel’s eyes shone. “Lambert, you’re not people to me, either.” <br/><br/>Lambert tipped his head to the side, looking back at Eskel. “Thanks.” <br/><br/>-----------------</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The days grew on, and Jaskier just kept tugging Lambert around the keep with him. He pressed him in chairs beside him in the library, dragged him outside to pet the goats. Lambert took it all with the same quiet, easy grace. Jaskier started to smile more. Still just small ones, and he remained quiet. For all Geralt complained of the noise of the bard, Eskel sometimes wondered if it was the same person. He’d joke and laugh softly, especially with Lambert. But he still waited for Vesemir or him to start any conversation. <br/><br/>One night as the snows were getting deep, Vesemir asked Jaskier if he would be willing to sing for them. Eskel had been laying on the furs in front of the fireplace, eyes closed. “That’s a good idea, Vesemir. We have such a pretty bird visiting this winter, you should encourage him to sing.” <br/><br/>Jasker flushed and fumbled, dropping his book on Lambert’s face. Lambert grumbled, knocking the offending book off of his head. He’d been dozing, stretched out with his head in Jaskier’s lap. <br/><br/>“No pressure, pup. But I do enjoy your music, if you care to share it. You can sing whatever you like.” <br/><br/>Lambert grunted his agreement. “Don’t flirt with the bard, Eskel.” <br/><br/>“I’m not wrong. He is pretty. Don’t mind telling him so.” <br/><br/>It went unchallenged, and later that week, Eskel found Jaskier in front of the fire in the library. He was just sitting, watching it, Lambert nowhere to be seen. “Hey. Mind company?” <br/><br/>“Oh. Hi Eskel. Lambert’s in the springs.” <br/><br/>“I do enjoy your company too, Jaskier.” <br/><br/>“Oh.” <br/><br/>They sat quietly, the bard clearly mulling over a question. Finally, he turned around so he could look more directly at Eskel. “May I ask you a question, about. Well.” <br/><br/>Eskel sighed. “Everyone always does, but I suspect you’ll have different questions.” <br/><br/>“Maybe. How are you okay with them? </p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t, for a long time. I’ve had many years to come to terms with it. I still struggle, especially when people are afraid of me. I’ve had children burst into tears, Jaskier. I know my overall damage is worse, look. Even fucked up my lip. You’ll probably stop feeling so raw soon. It really hasn’t made you less pretty, honest.” <br/><br/>“But how could you even say I’m pretty with this mess? I make my living off appearances, Eskel. People pay for young and pretty. They don’t want to feel pity for the entertainer.” <br/><br/>“Jaskier, you <em> are </em> beautiful. Even still, a large amount of damage is hidden by your hair, now that it’s growing out.” <br/><br/>“I don’t know. It’s hard to disguise it when I’m missing an eye.” Jaskier sighs, burying his face in his hands. “It sounds vain, I know, but people always used to compliment the color, and now they just stare at the blind one.” <br/><br/>“Oh, pretty bird. It’s not the face, or that bright blue of your eye that makes you beautiful. You just are. You’re kindness and generosity. I feel like we only get to see a small portion of your joy, though. Oh, don’t cry, Lambert will kill me. Come on.” Eskel coaxed the bard to stand, guiding him along,  “Vesemir’s been dying to ask you to sing in the hot springs again but doesn’t want to push. He rarely leaves the keep anymore, and hasn’t left Kaedwen in ages. Songs from Skellige remind him of when he was on the path, probably. That was a century at least before he trained us. Now, would you like to sing? We can leave you be.” <br/><br/>“I’ll sing, if he really does like it. Just. Maybe in a few minutes, I need to calm down.”</p><p><br/>He deposited the bard with Lambert, who snarled at Eskel before herding him away, murmuring close and wiping his tears. Vesemir was delighted that their guest agreed to sing again, but insisted on stopping to bring a warm honeyed mead for him when Eskel related the emotional conversation about scars. <br/><br/>This time, Jaskier sat on one of the ledges in the stone pools. The water was only up to his hips, and Lambert curled up between his legs, arms around his waist. He watched the two witchers enter but didn’t move from his position, his cheek against the bard’s thigh, the back of his head pressed to Jaskier’s side. Jaskier was combing his fingers through his hair, humming and singing long, echoing vocalizations, with his eyes closed. <br/><br/>When Vesemir slipped into the water, he opened his eyes. “It was beautiful, pup. Don’t let our intrusion stop you.” Eskel deposited the mead next to Jaskier before joining the oldest wolf, quirking an eyebrow at Lambert’s low growl. <br/><br/>“If you’re sure. I was thinking, and I remember one you might like.” <br/><br/>“Skellige, Eskel said?” <br/><br/>“Yes.” </p><p><br/>He took a small drink of the mead, humming in pleasure before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Eg er ikkje stor<br/></em>
  <em>Men tida på jord<br/></em>
  <em>Vil eg nyttje og nå<br/></em>
  <em>Opp til himmelen blå<br/></em>
  <em>Renn tårane strie<br/></em>
  <em>Tå glede og sorg<br/></em>
  <em>For alt som fekk plass<br/></em>
  <em>For alt som gav plass</em>
</p><p>
  <em> For spirar som blomar<br/></em>
  <em>For hjartet som sler<br/></em>
  <em>Renn tårane strie<br/></em>
  <em>Tå glede og sorg<br/></em>
  <em>For alt som fekk plass<br/></em>
  <em>For alt som gav plass<br/></em>
  <em>Renn tårane frie<br/></em>
  <em>Frå skyane grå </em>
</p><p><br/>This one was brighter, and the bard smiled as he sang. Each lyric ended on a long, held, higher note, that seemed to fill the cavern. The bard seemed to brighten, and Lambert watched them as they watched the bard, his deep chest and sweet voice filling the room with light. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I summon you into the mountain blue<br/>Where neither sun nor moonshine can reach you<br/>I summon you into the forest where no one dwells<br/>and out to the sea where no man rows<br/>Deep beneath an earthbound stone<br/>out of harm’s way<br/>Run through the rivers<br/>and roll with the ocean tides</p><p>------</p><p>I may not be big<br/>But my time here on earth<br/>I shall use and reach<br/>Into the blue sky<br/>Tears fall freely<br/>From joy and from sorrow<br/>For all that got place<br/>For all that gave place</p><p>For the sprout which flowers<br/>For the beating heart<br/>Tears fall freely<br/>From joy and sorrow<br/>For all that gave glace<br/>For all that got place<br/>Tears fall freely<br/>From the grey clouds</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Thaw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lambert and Eskel were in the kitchen, working together to prepare lunch. The younger witcher was slowly starting to seek out companionship himself, tentative and slow. Vesemir had started Jaskier on gentle drills with a heavy staff shortly after they arrived. The exercises were supervised by the sullen wolf for the first month, but he soon began to wander off. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He’d sit alone, in the springs, in his room. He’d climb the tower walls and watch the scenery. But now, nearing midwinter, he had started searching out Eskel. The first few times he’d sit quietly, watching whatever his older brother was doing. Then one day as he was watching Eskel knead bread dough, the big witcher slid a chopping board and some vegetables over with a quiet direction to dice them. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There still wasn’t much for conversation, but lately Eskel had felt less like he was sharing a room with a skittish animal ready to run. Lambert was slowly unraveling, coming back to color. Eskel knew that Lambert missed the one who was supposed to join them this winter but when he asked Jaskier, all he got was a sad smile. “He loved him, deeply.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So Eskel did what he did best, what he’d done for his brothers for as long as he could remember. He stayed steady, and kept a hand out. He’d join them quietly, the silences had never bothered him. On the hardest days he’d find Vesemir later in the old man’s room. Vesemir would read out loud just so they could both breathe in the sound of talking, and the comfort of company. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But this day as they worked together, finally soft and comfortable, they were startled out of their silence by a loud whoop and the deep rumble of Vesemir’s chuckle. Lambert did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> run, but it was a close thing. Curiosity being what it was, Eskel was hot on his heels.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They burst into the training yard to see Jaskier gleefully spinning around, Vesemir standing with his arms crossed. “What’s the celebration for, Ves?” Eskel called.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier bolted across the training yard, diving into Lambert’s open arms, laughing and clinging around his neck. Lambert was knocked back slightly from the impact, but buried his face in the bard’s neck, and swung him around in a few circles before setting him on his feet. The bard was still laughing when Vesemir called, “He landed a fair hit.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well done, Jaskier!” Eskel gathered the bard up in a hug as well, and even Lambert smirked at the surprised squeak from his bard. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-------------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Later that week, Vesemir slipped out for a late mug of tea. The keep was dark, but the moon was bright and full. He heard Lambert’s voice across the courtyard, with the familiar sounds of wooden weapons sparring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Watch the angle of your head, Jask, look. You know I’m here, right? You’re keeping me back with the staff- don’t give yourself an undefended blind spot.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>More clattering. Vesemir had learned long ago to walk silently, and he found a corner to watch. Jaskier was in the center of the courtyard, staff in hand, fending off Lambert. The witcher bounced around, tapping at the bard, making pleased hums when he was kept away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Suddenly, the stick spun, around and behind Jaskier’s left, making Lambert step back and allowing Jaskier to swivel to face him. A clever move, and not one he’d taught the bard yet. Then Lambert lunged, wooden sword held out and loose, the favored cocksure stance of bandits. With a flex and snap of his arm, the staff flicked the sword from Lambert’s hand, grazing his cheek as it went. Vesemir could smell the blood, but more important was Lambert’s delighted grin. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Look at you, songbird. Landed a hit on the old man, and drew my blood. I’m so fucking proud of you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier, however, had dropped the staff with a clatter, upset at the damage. Lambert didn’t try very hard to stop him inspecting the cut. Jaskier’s hands cradled his face, turning and tilting his head to inspect the damage, wiping the blood away gently with a thumb. “Oh, Lamb. I don’t care how fast you heal, it still hurts when you’re hit. Come on, let’s clean it up. No reason to add another scar to that pretty face if we can help it.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“If you leave the staff out like that, Vesemir will make you run the walls.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier huffed, stomping over and replacing the staff, before grabbing a laughing Lambert by the front of his shirt, dragging him away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The tea he’d came down for forgotten, Vesemir headed back to his room to think. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---------- </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The one benefit of Jaskier becoming more comfortable singing and talking was the conversation. Vesemir managed to get the bard to start telling him songs and changes to stories around the continent, his flowery descriptions and utter love of festivals painting pictures of countries Vesemir hasn’t seen in centuries. Since he left the path to train upcoming witchers, he hardly ever traveled. And after the sacking, it was even more difficult to leave the keep’s animal occupants unattended. Even the few days when he’d go down to Ard Carraigh for supplies took planning and still sometimes had unexpected costs. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But Jaskier seemed to relish someone to tell the stories of things he’d seen, festivals he’d attended. Then Eskel found the drum. He’d presented it to Jaskier, found somewhere from the bowels of the keep. A few days of maintenance, and Jaskier pronounced it usable. Eskel begged to be taught how to play, finding any excuse he could to make the bard smile. They took the drum to one of the tall towers, and Jaskier taught him simple beats, delicate fingers adjusting his posture. It made Eskel wonder again, who could mistake such a brilliant and patient teacher for anything less than he was? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He asked Vesemir one evening how the bard they knew could be the same one that Geralt complained about. Vesemir just shrugged. The small child surprise he’d been given so very many years ago had always been a little different. He was fixated on becoming a valiant knight, rarely without his little wooden sword in hand. The other students were always unsure of him, how unfeeling he seemed unless the daily routine of training was disrupted. The mutations only drew him more into himself, and the abuse all young witchers experienced on the path made him that much less interested in socialization. His sense of humor was dry and pun based, something Eskel always found hilarious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, he supposed, Geralt had gotten bitter and angry over time. He and Lambert have gotten in plenty of fights as Geralt took his temper out on his family. The mistreatment from humans could wear anyone down, and Geralt already had the unfortunate nickname to compound the ill treatment. Eskel would have to wait and talk to him himself. For now, though, he took every opportunity to beg drum practice off the soft, gentle bard who thankfully, stopped tensing when he was too near. The bard near glowed with pride when they debuted his efforts and Vesemir complimented the improvement to the Skellegan songs and their excellent teamwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-----------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of these practice sessions Vesemir watched Lambert do his forms, timing his steps to the beat of the drums. It took half an hour before Lambert stopped, tossing the wooden sword away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well, what is it, old man? You’re not here for drills, and I’m not wearing a pretty enough dress for you to stare at. What do you want?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just curious where you learned some of those moves you were teaching the bard. Well done, by the way. I saw the hit to your face, you’re an excellent teacher.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You saw?” Lambert’s face darkened, his posture slipping into a defensive stance. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I was up for tea, not trying to snoop, pup.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>`</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert scrubbed at the fading bruise on his cheekbone. “Aiden. 5 years ago, lost the same eye. Bastard never did tell me how, when I found him in spring he was learning defense with a light staff. He kept a sword in his other hand, but I don’t think the bard needs a weapon.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That was the winter you didn’t come home, wasn’t it?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> home, Ves. I was with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But yeah. Stayed with the caravan the rest of that year, helped him train. I would’ve stayed with him every winter, but he sent me away saying I needed you assholes too. He was meant to be here, this winter. Took forever to convince him it’d be safe.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m sorry, pup. I know how heavy a loss like that can be. Are you sleeping better now?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert shrugged, a lazy lift of one shoulder. “Bit. Still sleep with Jaskier most nights. Don’t wake up as often though.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Healing takes time. You’ll get there.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>------------------------------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took another month, before Lambert laughed. The snow was still deep but starting to melt, and the days were lengthening. He and Jaskier were standing on the outer wall, while Eskel mucked out the stables. Vesemir had decided that it was a good morning to nap in the sunshine, when Lambert’s laughter rang out over the courtyard. He was bent over, one hand on Jaskier’s arm and the other holding his stomach. The bard had a dazzling grin, the bright smile shining. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel just leaned on the rake, smiling up at the two on the walk. “Haven’t heard that laugh in years, Ves.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Makes sense, though, knowing about Aiden.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah, I suppose it does. You ought to make sure that the bard knows he’s welcome back. I don’t know if he will, but. I’ve enjoyed his company.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----------------------------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>That laugh seemed to have broken the ice in Lambert with the same melting steadiness that the ice in the lake had cracked. With the snows melting, Lambert’s eyes brightened, his smiles became easier. He still didn’t joke easily, and the hurt still made his eyes distant at times. But spring was truly coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Then one night in the library, Lambert told a story of Aiden. He was sitting on the furs in front of the low fire, Jaskier lounging between his thighs, draped over one leg. His blinded eye was hidden against one thigh, and Lambert’s long, narrow fingers carded through the bard’s hair. He’d taken to keeping it longer, the thick fringe looking roguish, and he’d finally risked growing in the beard, which Lambert demanded he never shave off. Jaskier just laughed and told him he’d have to teach him to care for it, a discussion that devolved into a wrestling match in the hot springs with Lambert mashing Jaskier’s face into the floor with a beard oil covered hand. When Eskel agreed with Lambert over keeping the beard, Jaskier relented, laughing. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The story had been about a contract they’d done together. The poster had claimed a vampire had been stealing young girls only for them to find it had been the town alderman’s son. The town turned on them even after the two witchers found his cave of horrors and released two captive girls. Aiden had taken great offense to it all, slipping back into the Alderman’s house behind the mob and stealing not only their promised payment and more, but the alderman’s exceedingly ridiculous hat and the roast dinner that had been left on the table. They’d climbed a tall oak out in the forest, sitting on a branch and eating the meal out of the pot Aiden had carried it away in. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier’s bright eye peered up from Lambert’s lap, before rolling over and reaching up to poke Lambert’s nose. “The question I have, my dear, is </span>
  <em>
    <span>where is the hat.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>That set Eskel off laughing, before he started into a tale of Lambert stealing Vesemir’s hat. It was a huge ridiculous thing that had the old witcher grumbling that it was fashionable at one time. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>When?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Two centuries ago? Or three?”  Lambert could barely ask through the giggling. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>As the contented silence that follows an evening of laughter, Vesemir decided it was likely that no better time would be had. “Jaskier,” he grumbled, “I’m sure Lambert’s made this clear, but we wanted you to know for certain. This is your home, too. You will always be welcome here. Your room is yours, and will not be given or lent to another. You’ve been well overdue to visit, and I’m honored to consider you a part of our family.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier was silent, eyes wide, brimming with tears. Eskel patted the bard’s arm gently, getting up to leave. Vesemir followed, the two taking all the empty mugs from the night’s ale with them. It wasn’t the first time they’d overheard tears in the library, but these didn’t have the same stink of despair they’d found so overwhelming early this winter. They could hear Lambert’s soft murmurs and hurried away. The bard deserved his privacy. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Descent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It hadn’t been a good day. Lambert got frustrated during training, raising his voice, and Jaskier shut down. His face shuttered, and he dropped the staff with a clatter that caught everyone by surprise. The fire in Lambert’s eyes turned to shock before he dove for Jaskier, who was stiff and wooden. The bard’s breathing was shallow and the moment Lambert’s hands caught his face, pressing their foreheads together, the tears started. The panic smell was still spiraling high. Lambert murmured softly, and Jaskier gripped his sleeves when Lambert crouched, picking the bard up and wrapping his legs around his waist, walking him to a barrel against the wall before setting him down on it. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Vesemir appeared at the bard’s right side, and pressed Jaskier’s hand to Lambert’s chest. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Breathe, bard. You’re going to pass out if you don’t. Come on. Teach Lambert how to fix it. 5 things you can see.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Shuddering, the bard whispered, still refusing to move or let go of Lambert’s shirt. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Good, 4 you can touch.” Vesemir saw his arm flex slightly, a foot twitch. The bard continued whispering. It was barely audible, and he wasn’t sure if Lambert could hear the responses, but Lambert needed to learn how to do this. “Very good, bardling. Look, Eskel’s here too. Can you tell him 3 things you can hear?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A bright blue eye searched over Lambert’s shoulder, seeing Eskel behind Vesemir. His voice was shaky, but loud enough to hear. “Lambert’s breathing. Birds. Vesemir.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Doing good, pretty bird. What’s next?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Two. I can taste.” Jaskier sniffed deep. “Only taste tears at the moment, though.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert gave a shaky laugh, but didn’t let go.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Last one, pup.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“One thing I can smell. Still Lambert.” The laugh was shaky, but his blue eye was clear and bright, even with his tear streaked face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Quite enough practice for today, boys. Lambert, why don’t you both go on up and check over your spring supplies. Only weeks left until the path clears, plenty of time to build up stock without rushing.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel watched them go, and Vesemir raised an eyebrow at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>----------------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Later that night, Eskel and Vesemir sat in the library, quiet and contemplative. Lambert slipped in, lute in hand, and sat at Vesemir’s feet, eyes down at the instrument in his lap.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I don’t know what to do. I know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to do, and I know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> has wanted to do. And what he wants to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not sure if either of us can make a decision that he won’t regret.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So is this truly Filavandrel’s lute?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve stopped him from selling it once, twice from throwing it over the back wall. He just begged me to be rid of it, so I’m asking you. What. What do I do with it? I don’t want to let him lose it or destroy it, to later find he regretted it. He’d sooner throw it in the fire than leave it in his room.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ll hang on to it, Lambert. Leave it here. It’ll be cared for.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He placed it down reverently, touching it one more time before disappearing silently back down the hallway.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>--------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>With spring approaching, both witchers spent time reinforcing armor and brewing potions- coin was usually scarce at the beginning of spring. They prepared for this by catching and  curing as much meat as they could all winter long. As the boys were busy, Vesemir taught the bard how to make hard bread that lasted well on the trail. Between that and the meat, they would have plenty to eat until contracts became more plentiful. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Almost every night, there were smiles around the dinner table, laughter, and Vesemir was proud to watch the bard no longer wait to be spoken to. Training was lighthearted, the bard well capable of defending himself now with his stick. Eskel and Lambert were starting to get twitchy with the ice noticeably receding. The trail down the path still wasn’t safe- and Lambert was relying on an ungainly horse. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So they ran the walls, crashing around and through obstacles, Jaskier cheering them on. Just to be fair, he cheered for Eskel every other round, making the big witcher laugh. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t until they came back dripping with sweat and exhausted that Eskel declared he’d won. Lambert didn’t argue, just flipped a rude gesture with his fingers. He declared his winnings were a kiss, bounded over and planted a wet, loud smack right in the center of Jaskier’s scar on his cheek. The bard squawked and laughed, and Eskel bolted, Lambert hot on his heels. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Come on, bard. Those two are going to scrap for a while yet. Mind singing for an old man in the hot springs again?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t long before an early spring rain had Eskel announce he’d be leaving. That night in the library, Jaskier sat on the long couch with Lambert stretched out beside him, his feet in the bard’s lap. Eskel sat at the Jaskier’s feet, reclining on the soft pile of furs. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So what’s your plan for this season, Lambert? Geralt said he was in the south with that witch. I had heard rumors of Nilfgaard marching, doubt he’d be anywhere there.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier’s eyes went wide, “Well, he could always be in Cintra.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You think so, pretty bird? You said he was pretty set against that child surprise.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’ll do whatever Yennefer wants.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Vesemir grumbled, and the witchers snorted. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Honestly hadn’t figured on planning it.” Lambert put a foot on Jaskier’s shoulder, rocking him gently. “Where do you want to go?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh. Wait, what?” Jaskier blinked, pushing Lambert’s foot off.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Where do you want to go? What haven’t you seen on this shitpile of a continent? We’ve even got a horse. Wanna go to Poviss?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lambert </span>
  <em>
    <span>do not go harass Coen.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vesemir was stern, but Lambert just grinned. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Jaskier, let’s go to Poviss.” Even Eskel laughed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span> “Could we… go to the coast?” Even with nearly a year of learning he could ask Lambert for things and about things, his voice came out small and nervous. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel wrapped a hand around his ankle, rubbing gently with a thumb. “There’s lots of coast, pretty bird. Do you want to swim? Do you want a beach with huge cliffs and cold wind, or soft sands and cottages?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen the ocean in Kerack once, and then while I was studying at Oxenfurt. But the city doesn’t really make for a lovely view.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert and Eskel looked at each other. “I’ll take north, then. Don’t go too far south this year, though. Take the bard out in Cidaris, it’s lovely. But I would enjoy meeting during the year- maybe Midsummer?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert looked at Jaskier, waiting for approval. “What? Oh, me? Um. Certainly. There’s a lovely festival in Ellander we can go to, Eskel?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perfect.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>-----------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The next morning Eskel left, wrapping Jaskier in a tight hug. The bard clung and laughed as Eskel lifted him off his feet, swinging him back and forth gently. “Don’t be a stranger, pretty bird. I’ll miss you, on the path.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead, and went to hug his brother next. They murmured the usual admonitions to be safe, and promised to see each other in Ellander. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Vesemir clung him, as he has done to each of them, every spring. Lambert drew Jaskier away, letting them speak quietly. They climbed to the top of the outer wall where they could watch his way down the first portion of the mountain. It wasn’t long before they could see Eskel’s big black stallion amble across the meadow. They watched him reach the treeline, and off in the distance the horse stopped. Jaskier could barely see the small figure wave, and he waved madly back, making Vesemir chuckle. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was another week before Vesemir agreed that the path was probably safe enough for the old plow horse. He helped them pack supplies onto the big beast of a horse as the dawn broke. Jaskier waited, petting the gentle beast as Vesemir and Lambert talked quietly. He gave them their peace, content to wait. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Vesemir put a hand on the back of Lambert’s head, squeezing the back of his neck gently, before releasing him. Lambert’s eyes were red, and he ran a hand down Jaskier’s back. “Ves wants to say goodbye to you too, Jaskier.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The bard turned with wide eyes. Lambert snorted, and gave him a push. He fell into the old witcher’s hug, burying his face in the old man’s chest as he was rocked slowly. “You come back here, bard. I’ll be waiting for more songs and stories. I told Lambert to take care of you, but we both know you’ve been taking just as much care of him. Eskel even plans to buy a better drum for next winter. We are looking forward to having you. You’re our family, now.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He murmured softly in the bard’s hair more promises for winter, and instructions to be safe before he let him go. Lambert was already up on the big horse, and tugged Jaskier up behind him. Vesemir handed him up his stick, which he situated over his shoulder. He slid close and wrapped an arm around Lambert’s waist, hooking his fingers in the witcher’s belt before leaning around to wave at Vesemir as the big beast trundled out, and across the meadow. They stopped in the same place Eskel did, both turning to wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The going was easy until they reached the switch backs, the shale still damp and slick, with bits of ice even made Lambert unsteady. “Fuck, Jaskier. You can’t ride down this, do you think you can walk it?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier slid down off the horse. “Won’t know until I try, Lambert, you do have to let me do things myself. Best time to practice, with you here to save me, right?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert growled, pacing. “Fine, fine. Go ahead of me, I’ll lead the beast. Do not stand below him, in case he slips or kicks out rocks.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier was tense, pressing himself as close to the mountain as he could, using his stick to balance on the loose rock piles. They made it halfway down without incident until the shale shifted below his foot, the stick clattering down the pass. He tumbled off the edge onto the next bit of path below. Lambert dove forward with a cry, but the horse refused to move faster.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck, Lambert, I’m fine, just knocked the wind out of me. Breathe, I’m fine.” Jaskier got unsteadily to his feet and it was long minutes before Lambert coaxed the horse around the curve and he could get his hands on the bard. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, Jaskier. We should have waited.” Lambert pressed the bard against his chest. “Should never let you go, you impatient shit you do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to go the fast way down this mountain.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lamb, I’m fine, it’s okay!” Jaskier carefully extricated himself from the witcher’s grasp, and cupped his cheek. “I’m okay. I can still walk. There’s not much farther to go.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>carrying you</span>
  </em>
  <span> around the reach when we get to it.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You are most certainly not.” Jaskier walked slower, though, staying within Lambert’s grasp. Despite himself, Lambert reached out to graze his fingers across the back of the bard’s vest every time he was close enough. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The trail past the switchbacks was steep, but Lambert breathed easier once Jaskier reached where his stick had fallen and he once again had the extra climbing support. They paused at the campsite before the reach, but Jaskier insisted on moving on past it. His large body guards had made the last night they camped there bearable but he was not keen to try again. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They stood, the wide trail curving around the mountain, open to a sheer drop. “Oh. I don’t remember it being quite this scary.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert clung to his arm. “That’s because you were asleep on Scorpion. Are you sure I can’t carry you? Ride the horse, maybe?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lets go, darling. The path is clear, just scary.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert vibrated the whole way, but it went without incident. As soon as they were back in the hills, Lambert manhandled the bard into the saddle, swinging up behind him. He pressed the bard back into him with a fist wrapped in the bard’s shirt, and Jaskier hung his stick so it was in front of him, giving Lambert freedom to ground himself. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The big horse was far more willing to walk at a steady pace downhill, so they reached the cave campsite as it started getting dark. They worked quietly around each other, Jaskier not bothering to put out the second bedroll. They were both spooked by his fall,and Lambert wouldn’t argue against the comfort of sharing. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Dinner was light, Lambert not bothering to hunt. He shucked off his armor beside the bedroll, making Jaskier laugh. He curled up beside the witcher, and Lambert fell asleep, holding one delicate hand over his own slow, steady heartbeat. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Contracts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lambert woke to find himself laying across the front of the bard, one arm inside Jaskier’s shirt, his hand curved around a broad, deep rib cage. He pressed his face further into the bard’s neck, the soft beard and longer hair tickling his face. Jaskier grumbled in his sleep, never fond of early mornings. His arm went from resting on Lambert’s back to scratching gently. They were deep in the Kaedwen forest, having made it down off the mountains without any more fuss. They had plenty of supplies, and decided to avoid towns until they were past the Gwenllech River, where Vesemir would be less likely to hunt. With a huff, Lambert extricated himself, laughing when Jaskier complained. <br/><br/>The bard was a limpet. The last month at the keep Lambert had finally been able to sleep alone, no longer waking up in tears from grief or nightmares. However, unless the fire was between their bedrolls Lambert always awoke with the two of them tangled up together. They both just seemed to unconsciously prefer being pressed together, and Jaskier never put their bedrolls far apart when he made camp. Lambert deliberately made noise as he readied for the day, making breakfast for them both. Soon, Jaskier woke, his pale pink shirt in complete disarray, ruffling his hair back in some semblance of order. </p><p> </p><p>They were only a few hours from the nearest town, and they’d start looking for contracts there as they made their way to Cidaris. They were following the Buina river south, Jaskier riding, sitting sideways as Lambert walked beside him. They took turns stretching their legs, as the big plow horse never seemed bothered by the weight. He’d never be the best horse, too slow and ungainly, but he served them well. </p><p> </p><p>They plodded into town, Lambert checking the noticeboard. He plucked one off, handing it to Jaskier who read it with a frown. “Oh, drowners. This seems low for payment, though.”<br/><br/>“It is, but common enough for early spring.” Lambert reached for the paper. <br/><br/>“Oh, let me.” Jaskier slid down, popping up and waving the flyer at Lambert. He tucked his stick in the corner of his arm before ducking into the tavern, eager to be helpful. <br/><br/>Lambert took the plow horse over to a trough to give him a drink of water while he waited, watching the town folk go about their morning. It didn’t take long, and Jaskier flitted back out just as someone walking past Lambert into the tavern hissed, “ <em> Freak.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> A swift long sweep of the bard’s walking stick took the man down, splashing into a puddle. “Oh my, I didn’t see you there! Goodness I’m not sure that dear Albin will want you splashing about in the inn when you’re dripping wet!” <br/><br/>“The fuck you attack me for, you a mutant fucker?” <br/><br/>Jaskier’s smile got viciously sharp, and he leaned on his stick. He dragged a hand through his now long hair, giving the aggressive and soggy man an unimpeded view of his scars. His mismatched eyes made his blindness clear, but the wide, toothy grin was unsettling. “Well I did say I did not <em> see you there. </em> I don’t see how that has anything to do with who I take to bed. I assume you’re disparaging this beautiful specimen here behind you. How utterly unfortunate, he just took the contract for the drowners at the river. Unless, of course.” Jaskier stepped back, and spun the stick back and slipped it back over his head to hang, “You’d prefer we give our apologies and just move on to the next town? I’ll be sure to let Albin know your displeasure is why we’ve chosen to move on. After you.” <br/><br/>Jaskier was standing, the door of the tavern open, sketching an extremely sarcastic bow at the man who was scrambling to his feet. He was fuming, but quiet. “No. Monsters took my sister’s boy.” <br/><br/>“Ah. So you’d prefer we complete our task, and still yet allow your epithets cast at my friend. No thank you, please, after you.” <br/><br/>“ <em> My apologies, Witcher. </em> ” The man hissed, before heading inside. Jaskier waved inside, before letting the door free. He stood in front of Lambert, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his feet with a gleeful expression. <br/><br/>Lambert was <em> speechless. </em>Was this what Geralt meant about the bard picking fights and being feral? </p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Lambert blinked, “Did you?”<br/><br/>“Fuck a monster? Not recently. Oh, don’t look so cross. Yes, I sorted the contract. I had him draw a map, darling. Do you want to go now, or later? He gave us a room, dinner, and a bath for the night. To make up for the low pay.” <br/><br/>“To… make up? Jaskier, did you…” <br/><br/>Jaskier patted his chest, tucking the map into a pocket of his armor. “Don’t forget I’ve done this for years, Lambert.” <br/><br/>He snapped his mouth closed, grabbed his potions case, and with a smile bordering on a smirk, he set off. <br/><br/>The nest was easy, there were only 6 drowners. He drew them out from the water, picking them off with quick sure strikes from his silver sword, and a blast of Igni took out two that had tried to surround him. He gathered up enough drowner brain to fill up one of his supply bottles, before throwing them all in a pile, kicking the dismembered limbs closer. He stuffed two heads in a sack before burning the rest with a lazy sweep of his hand. He was soaked, with a bit of splatter on his armor, but it was one of the easiest hunts he’d been on. He was nearly to the door of the inn when the stable boy dashed out. <br/><br/>“Master Witcher? My Pa said please don’t bring any dead things inside, he said to put them in the rubbish pile behind the stable.” <br/><br/>Lambert considered this, and handed the boy the sack. “Just leave the sack with my horse, kid, alright? The big dumb one.” He handed the boy a copper, and strode inside. <br/><br/>“Ah! Master Witcher! I see you were… ah. Successful. Your manager arranged for everything. The bath is upstairs and ready for you, shall I send up your dinner or will you eat down here?” The short, round innkeep wrung a towel between his hands, reeking of fear. <br/><br/>“Upstairs will be fine, in an hour, please?” <br/><br/>“Thank you sir! Second room on the right!” <br/><br/>Discomfited, Lambert walked up the stairs, peeking in the door. He found Jaskier lounging on one of the beds, with their medical bag beside him. “Jaskier?” <br/><br/>“Lambert! Oh, look at you. Filthy. So, funny story, the innkeeper assumed I was your manager!” His nimble fingers plucked at Lambert’s straps as the witcher hung his swords and potion bag on a chair beside the table. He shrugged the armor off, as Jaskier’s hands went to his belt, still chattering away about his time with the innkeep. It wasn’t until Jaskier dragged the shirt over Lambert’s head did his brain re-engage. <br/><br/>“Jaskier, I can bathe myself you know. Been doing it for 80 years. Look, not even a scratch.” <br/><br/>Jaskier turned him around, inspected before he shooed him off to the bath. “Yes yes, good. Get in the bath then, old man. Hand me that rag? I’ll work on your armor, since you don’t want me to wash your hair.” <br/><br/>Lambert froze, hands on his undone pants before turning to look at the bard. “I… didn’t say that. Just. I promise I’ll tell you, if I’m injured?”. He slipped inside the bathtub, groaning at the heat. “I don’t need to hide it, when you’re willing to help. You’re not going to kill me while I sleep, or you would have when I ate the last honey cake.” <br/><br/><em> “I was saving that.” </em> Jaskier hissed, turning around and shaking a finger. “And excuse me for fretting.” He unceremoniously dumped a bucket of water over Lambert’s head, making him sputter. <br/><br/>For all he teased and badgered the witcher to tell him about the hunt, his fingers were strong and gentle, massaging the road dirt and drowner goo out of his hair. Lambert reached up, tugging on a damp bit of fringe. “You take a bath while I was gone?” <br/><br/>“Yes, and it was lovely. Here, dunk.” Jaskier pushed Lambert’s head under the water again, the witcher flailing, but came back up laughing. “Now, all clean and pretty again.” <br/><br/>“Never as pretty as you, songbird.” <br/><br/>Jaskier laughed, dismissing him with the rag before going back to clean up his armor. They sat in peace until dinner was brought up, when Lambert finally clambered out of the tub, shaking his hair obnoxiously. It was roast pheasant and roasted vegetables, far better inn food than Lambert usually was served. It was on a tray with good ale, two fruit tarts and a small purse with his pay. </p><p> </p><p>They’d saved the tarts for breakfast, though it was a late start and Lambert threatened to eat Jaskier’s before he finally got out of bed. It was a lighthearted morning, and travel was cheerful for the next week as they headed south. They weren’t in a rush, but without contracts to delay them and the goal of the beach, they traveled fast. <br/><br/>They just reached the Pontar when a merchant in the town they passed through mentioned an Archespore that had interrupted trade from the next town to the west. Lambert looked worried, and slipped down off the horse. “What’s up, Lamb?” <br/><br/>“Archspores are nasty fuckers- I’ll be fine with a potion but you don’t need to risk being shot with one of their spines. Stay back, but be ready, you may need to make that stupid beast run.” Lambert rummaged in the saddlebags, pocketing a potion before he took off ahead, his silver sword over a shoulder. They marched on, and after a few hours, Jaskier got bored and made up a marching song about a little puppy off to pick flowers. Lambert spun on his heel, facing the bard and flipped him a rude gesture with a smirk. Jaskier laughed at him walking backwards, until Lambert managed to trip over the damn Archespore. <br/><br/>“Oh fan fucking tastic, Jaskier get out of here!” The flailing demon plant spooked the horse, shooting it’s spines at them both. Lambert rolled to his feet, being so close both very good and frustrating. He hacked at it until Jaskier was past, then lit it up with a rage filled Igni that filled the road. “Fucking cocksucker peice of shit plant just burn already!” After it stopped moving, he lit it up again, just to be sure. He hacked off the head, dragging it behind him. He couldn’t see Jaskier or the horse, but he knew where they were heading. Without him. On foot. Dragging an archespore head. Lambert kicked the head again. “Fuck.” <br/><br/>He hefted the head of it over his shoulder, and jogged off. Thankfully, the town wasn’t far, but once he got there he hunted through all three inns in town to find the one Jaskier was at. He found a stableboy fighting with the horse’s saddlebags, and took them off. The boy told him he’d been paid to take care of the horse and supplies, but that Jaskier had gone to the healer, and hadn’t gotten a room yet. Lambert took the bags, tossing them over his other  shoulder, and ran where the boy pointed. <br/><br/>Thankfully, the healer’s shop was only a few doors down, set farther back into the woods but not outside of the town. He dropped the head outside the door, and burst in, dropping his bags inside the door.  “Jaskier?” <br/><br/>The healer, a young elven woman with bright red hair rounded on him. “Witcher, you will not disturb my work, stay quiet and fetch what I ask, or leave!” <br/><br/>“ <em> If you kill him I will make you eat your entrails.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> She scoffed at him, and went back to work on Jaskier face down on the table, his pale blue shirt had been cut off. One spine was lodged deep in his side. She’d have to cut the wound larger to get it out without the barbs injecting more venom. She soon beckoned Lambert to help. “Wash your hands, hold him so I can remove it without more venom entering his system. Hold him <em> still.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> Lambert pressed him down against the table but as soon as her knife broke skin, Jaskier’s eyes opened and he tried to pull away with a small cry. “Ah fuck, wait. I hate this bullshit.” With a grimace and Lambert’s <em> second </em> least favorite sign, the bard was asleep. “Work fast, in pain he won’t stay under long.” <br/><br/>“Handy trick, Witcher.” She waved him back to his task with her small blade. <br/><br/>Moments later, she’d cut carefully, and he pulled the wound wider. She bent her head and got to work. It was a stressful hour, and he’d been very lucky. The stable boy had seen the blood and hollered for his pa. The young healer told him what he missed as she focused on removing the barbs. “He’s a good lad, witcher. If your man here had tried to remove it himself he certainly would have caused far more damage.” <br/><br/>Lambert really, truly wanted to yell and snap. He dragged his hands down his face, and just growled. She took that as it was, washing out the wound and adding a few stitches as he paced. “Now, did you kill the archespore? If I may have it’s head for supplies, I’ll consider that payment. I’ll talk to the alderman, so he knows why you’ve no trophy. No traveling, for at least two days. No walking for four. It’s not a big wound, but it’ll heal slow. Do you have supplies safe for him? No, just I’ll pack some up. Not to kick you out, but, the sooner you get him in a bed and off my table the better for him.” <br/><br/>The small, fearless woman handed him a parcel she just packed and walked out. Lambert tucked it inside the saddle bags carefully before hooking them saddlebags over his neck.He gathered up Jaskier in his arms, tucking the bard’s head against his neck, cradled by the wide pouch of the saddlebag. He’d look a bit ridiculous, but with his luck the bard would manage to injure himself worse if he left and came back. The inn wasn’t far, and the little stableboy had been watching for them. When he saw them coming, he held the door open. <br/><br/>“Pa! The witcher!” <br/><br/>Lambert asked for a room for three days. The innkeep looked them over. “You’ll be no trouble, aye?” <br/><br/>“He just needs a fucking bed, we’re not here for fun.” <br/><br/>He nodded before handing over a key. “Last room on the left. It’s got a fireplace, may help with carin’ for your man’s wounds.” <br/><br/>Lambert grunted, taking the key awkwardly and headed off. He managed to get them both in the room without knocking Jaskier’s head on the door, but only just. The room was tiny, one big bed, a table, and the promised fireplace. “Hear that Jask, you’re my man, now. According to this town, anyway.” He rolled the bard gently onto the bed before checking he’d been gentle enough not to cause him to bleed through the stitches. After stripping off his armor and cleaning his sword, he climbed into bed next to Jaskier, and passed out. <br/><br/></p><p>He was woken the next morning by Jaskier’s dainty, dagger-like finger jabbing into his side. “Fuck off, bard what is it.”<br/><br/>“Lambert, this fucking hurts and I can’t quite get up myself.” <br/><br/>“Ah shit, yeah. She sent me with potions, let’s get you up and sorted. Are you sure we can’t get you at least light armor?” <br/><br/>“Fuck, after this I might take you up on it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was three miserable days for both of them, Lambert guilty and bored, Jaskier hurting and bored. But the town was friendly and kind, and Jaskier laughed the first night when the innkeeper’s wife complimented his boyfriend’s attentiveness over his injuries. Lambert scowled and spent the rest of the next morning prowling around the town. The third night when they had curled up together in bed, Jaskier broke down in tears after Lambert told him the healer was coming in the morning to confirm he was okay to travel. Lambert rubbed his back as he cried into the bed, before he dared to ask. “Geralt thing?” <br/><br/>“You <em> stayed.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em>“Of course I… oh, for fucks sake, he’d leave you behind over this? I thought you meant he’d left you at the healer’s hut, not left the town entirely.”</p><p>Jaskier shrugged. <br/><br/>“Songbird, if I left you behind, how would you have gotten to the coast?” <br/><br/>“Probably would have just went to Ellander, and waited for you at midsummer.” <br/><br/>“.... Ok. I am leaving the saddlebags here, I am walking in the forest, I am going to find something to kill. I will be back by morning, and when the healer clears you we will leave <em> together </em> .” <br/><br/>“You’re angry.” <br/><br/>“Not at you, and if I stay I’m going to fucking scream, and you don’t need that. Sleep. I’ll be back.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Protection</h2></a>
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    <p>
  <span>Jaskier woke to Lambert meditating shirtless in front of the low fire in the fireplace. His armor was piled by the door, scabbards resting against the wall. Jaskier tried to get up quietly, but the small hiss of pain at rising had the witcher standing and stretching. </span>
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  <span>“Hey, slow down dumbass there’s still a hole in you. Healer will be here soon. Want food?”</span>
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  <span>“Yeah. Come here, though, let me look at that.”</span>
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  <span>Lambert rolled his eyes, but came close helping Jaskier sit up before kneeling by the bed. “I promised I’d tell you if I got hurt. Just a scrape, I already cleaned it. It’ll be fine in a few more hours.”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier inspected the scrape across his chest, before patting him gently. “You know that’s not what I meant, but thank you. I appreciate it.” Lambert stood, pulling the bard up and depositing him at the table. </span>
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  <span>“I promised. I’m an asshole, not a liar. Now. Food first. I have an errand to run, so the healer may be here before me. Anything you need?”</span>
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  <span>With the bard’s denial, he shrugged on his scabbards and headed out. Downstairs, he called for breakfast, the round innkeep scurrying over. “Master Witcher! The… ah. Boar? Left in the kitchen? I assume that was you?”</span>
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  <span>Lambert waved him off. “He needs breakfast sent up. The boar. Better than letting it go to waste. If you’re worried, just. Fuck, I don’t know, ask him. I have more important shit to do.” He snagged a sweetroll off the counter and headed out. </span>
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  <span>The morning Jaskier finally agreed to armor Lambert put in a commission. Maybe was a yes, when it came to this and Lambert would not be convinced otherwise. He waited outside the leatherworker’s shop until the door opened. A dark skinned man poked his head out. “Not exactly ready to open yet, but I assume you’re just here to pick up your commission?” </span>
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  <span>Lambert nodded, pushing off the wall and followed the tall man into the shop. Within moments, a pale brown leather vest was laid in front of him. It was broad across the shoulders, with a belt to taper the waist. Lambert held it up. Should be long enough to settle at the bard’s hips. </span>
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  <span>“Pardon my nosiness, but doesn’t look much your color?”</span>
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  <span>“You’re right. That is nosy.” Lambert inspected the stitching and buckles, admiring the disguised reinforcement that made it usable, if light, armor. “Well done, though.” He ran a finger over the tooled buttercup over the left breast. He handed over a handful of coin, the second half of the payment, with a little extra for the speed of the order. He’d made armor before, keeping busy over long winters. It’s hard work, and his stitches weren’t nearly as neat. It was wrapped up, and he headed back out.</span>
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  <span>After that, he picked up another bag of carrots, plums and dried lentils. Supplies for the road are always useful. He hadn’t seen the healer, so he hurried back to the inn hoping to still beat her there. He pushed his way back into the tavern, headed straight towards their room. When he slipped in, however, Jaskier was on the bed, shirt off, and the healer was prodding him. </span>
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  <span>“Ah! Witcher, good. You’re back. I’m assuming you know how to remove stitches in a few days? Good,” She stood, squared up with Lambert. “Now, he’s healing well and I’ve done what I could so he’ll heal a bit faster than normal. He said you were waiting for my leave to travel on, but I am forbidding sex for at least four more days.” </span>
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  <span>She jabbed her finger into Lambert’s chest, glaring up at him. “Four. More. Days. No excuses.” </span>
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  <span>Lambert sputtered, his face red. “The fuck?”</span>
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  <span>“Exactly. None.” She pointed at Jaskier, who had pulled a pillow over his head. “But yes. He said you have a horse, he rides it. Not you. Is it true witchers can smell infection?”</span>
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  <span>“Thought you didn’t want me that close to his ass?” Lambert smirked. He really liked this feisty redhead. </span>
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  <span>“Don’t be smart, boy. That was a deep wound. Be cautious, but he should be okay.” She patted Lambert on the arm as she left. “You’ve done well caring for him, he’ll be just fine.”</span>
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  <span>The room was quiet until they both burst into laughter, Jaskier rolling over to look up at a still blushing Lambert. “Ooh! What did you buy?”</span>
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  <span>Lambert stowed the food in the saddlebag, and tossed Jaskier his pink shirt. “Put that on, I’ll show you.” Jaskier carefully pulled the shirt on. Lambert dragged his boots over, helping Jaskier put them on and stand up. He pulled the vest out of the parcel, gently tugging it into place. He was focused, brows furrowed, hands tugging the vest into place and doing up the front buckles before adjusting the small back strap that allowed the vest to show off the bard’s narrow hips. He was so focused on his task of adjusting the armor so Jaskier would be able to use the clips he startled when Jaskier caught his face in his hands. </span>
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  <span>“Lambert, you got me </span>
  <em>
    <span>armor?”</span>
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  </em>
  <em>
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  <span>“I said ages ago you should wear some traveling. You said you would wear it now? This will stop the same thing from happening again. It’s not for fighting monsters, and far more pretty than I expected him to make. But yes?”</span>
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  <span>“And there’s a buttercup.” </span>
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  <span>“In elder-”</span>
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  <span>“I know what it means, Lambert. Such a pale brown?”</span>
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  <span>“Look better with the colors you wear. And no one will mistake you for a witcher. That’s pretty enough it just looks like a vest.”</span>
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  <span>He pulled Lambert into a hug, arms wrapped tight around his neck until Lambert slid his hands around the bard’s waist, leaning into the embrace. They were quiet for a long moment before Jaskier finally released Lambert. “Oh. Look, I’m all tears now. Thank you, Lambert. Truly.” </span>
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  <span>Lambert snorted, squeezing the bard’s waist before turning to put on his own armor. “I said I would. Let’s go, we’ll be in Temeria by nightfall.” </span>
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  <span>Lambert pushed Jaskier up on the horse first, content to let him guide them over the bridge and west towards their goal. Lambert found his fingers caught on the tooling on the bottom edge of the bard’s armor, running his thumb across the small flowers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
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  <span>They stayed traveling along the Pontar for days, passing through three towns before finally running across a one with a contract. Jaskier's stitches had come out, and Lambert had been diligent in watching for infection but a night in an inn would be welcome. Lambert plucked the paper off the board and handed it up to Jaskier to read. “Well. We were hungry anyway, shall we stay the night?”</span>
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  <span>“May as well.”</span>
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  <span>So the big horse was stabled, with extra coins pressed into the stable hand’s palm to give him a good brushdown. </span>
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  <span>The inn, however, was immediately hostile. Lambert reached a hand back, but Jaskier slid around him, ushering him gently into a corner both. He approached the counter with the contract in hand with an easy smile. </span>
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  <span>“You here for the contract?” The enormous bartender leaned over, glaring at Jaskier. </span>
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  <span>“Why yes, a few questions to confirm what it is and where exactly, maybe some dinner, and my friend here can be off to handle your little problem.” </span>
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  <span>The man waved at a young girl, who dashed out the back. “Posted by the alderman. He’ll be here in a few moments. We won’t serve his sort, here. Your beast can wait outside.”</span>
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  <span>“If my </span>
  <em>
    <span>beast</span>
  </em>
  <span> is unfed, he cannot work. You’ll do well not to mistreat him.” </span>
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  <span>Glaring, the innkeep leaned back, crossing his arms. Jaskier drew himself up with all the disdain his upbringing gave him. “We are more than willing to just leave. There’s a contract posted. All we asked for is a meal, and a room for the night, and you refuse this accommodation?”</span>
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  <span>“Just because you like keeping a witcher as a pet doesn’t mean we need to tolerate it. Go stable it with your horse. You can do without your cockwarmer for a night.” The innkeeper placed only one bowl of stew and an ale in front of him deliberately. </span>
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  <span>Jaskier glanced at Lambert, saw the rage in his eyes, vibrating with tension. He took a bite of the stew, and a sip of the ale. He considered them both, and then carried them to Lambert. He placed them in front of him, and ran a hand through his hair. He whispered, knowing the witcher would hear him, “Eat. Do you want to leave?” The tiniest shake of his head. “I’ll get us a room. Go when you’re done, I’ll be fine here.” Lambert glanced up, brushing his fingers over the bard’s side as he stepped away. </span>
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  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, gentlemen. It looks like despite your disgusting lack of manners and  piss poor ale my … pet? You say? Has decided to still take your contract.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier swung the stick off his back, spinning it in his grasp before leaning on it. “Now we are going to need a room. You will give us a room, and drag up a nice hot bath for my… cockwarmer? You say? Can’t abide by selkimore guts on my dick, I’m sure you know how it is. Unless you’re too fucking stupid to understand if you drive this witcher out I will personally ensure you never get another witcher to set foot in your town no matter what or who eats your livestock and carries off your children.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When the big barkeep lunged at him, it was one sharp, step back and a violent swing that Jaskier took the man across the head. He crashed through a table, eye blackening, nose clearly broken. “Are you truly going to attack a man who you think has the loyalty of a feral beast?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier smiled, pointing at him with the stick. “A room. A bath for the Witcher. I could do with dinner as well, honestly.” Jaskier glanced back at Lambert, who was now standing arms crossed, watching the show with a smirk.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The man growled and lunged again, but this time the bard stepped forward, rotating the staff hard and fast, hitting the big man directly in the testicles. Another quick jab to his forehead knocked him back on his ass. He swung the stick out and to the left, long hours of training reminding him to guard his blind side. “Are you done yet? You must throw these tantrums regularly, none of the generous people in here are willing to back you. Are you the feral monster, instead? Perhaps they are more afraid of the monster in the woods than the monster behind the bar.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert snorted behind him, and Jaskier glanced again, to see Lambert wink and head out the door. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>FInally standing, the man groaned, hands on his knees, bleeding and looking up at the bard. “Room. Bath. Dinner.” Jaskier gestured with a hand. “Truly your last chance. I know he’s left the horse behind, so if I leave, we’re gone from town and so are your hopes of ever getting a witcher again. Because, dear innkeep. I don’t only have the attention of </span>
  <em>
    <span>one of them.” </span>
  </em>
  
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fine, you fucking monster. You’ll get your room but -” Jaskier swung his stick fast and wide, stopping it a breath from his nose.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No. Get things ready. And keep in mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not the one with the poor temper.” </span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The alderman was a gruff old man, who patted a coin purse in Jaskier’s hand. His eyes were starting to grey with age, and he sat in the room Jaskier was given, telling him tales of a witcher who saved his sister when they were young. When the bath was filled and Jaskier’s dinner served, the alderman waved for another and they ate together. After he’d had his fill, the man patted him on the shoulder gently, and walked back out. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The room was small, and the heat of the bath made the room muggy. He found a basin for washing clothes and dug out their medical kit as he waited for Lambert to return. It had already been hours, but he waited another two before Lambert stomped in covered in viscera and grinning. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Vesemir would make me run the killer for a week straight for that fight down stairs. Old bastard would probably just tell you he was proud of you. You really didn’t have to do that, you know.” Jaskier just smiled softly, unpicking the buckles of his armor. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I spent two decades of my life singing to improve the reputation of witchers, Lambert. Besides, if I let him get a hit in I would have gone down hard.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you really think I would have let him lay a hand on you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier hummed. “I suppose you would have stepped in, wouldn’t you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert suddenly wanted to ask if Geralt would have stepped in, but also just as suddenly realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>he did not want to know.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wanted to punch Geralt enough as it is. So he just turned, dropping the armor by the table and shucking his clothes off quickly before climbing into the bath. Jaskier plucked up the clothes and went to work on washing out the Selkimore splatter. “Jules, you know I can do that. Why do you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t I? I enjoy helping. Why did you stay and hunt the beast?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert grumbled and slid down until his head was underwater. Jaskier finished washing the clothes, chattering about the conversation with the alderman the whole time. He was wringing them out as Lambert finally climbed out of the bath. He dressed, then went to clean his armor and swords. Once everything was clean and hung to dry they crashed in the big bed, Lambert bullied Jaskier into letting him check his slowly scarring wound. Reassured the bard was fine, Lambert settled down to tell Jaskier all about the fight. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wait- so it doesn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>swallow you?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<span>“Why the fuck would I want it to eat me, they smell? Oh gods. Wait. Did he?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They laughed until both were in tears. “Oh no, Jules, I throw bombs in its mouth! Only took me two this time.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh my goodness Lambert you should’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, absolutely drenched in gore.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert prodded Jaskier to sleep, but decided he would just meditate. Jaskier told him of the alderman’s visit, but the innkeep could still be a threat. He rose before dawn, and got the big plow horse ready to go and tied at the front door before he woke Jaskier, who for once, didn’t grumble. They slipped out and left town not interested in another conflict.  </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Vizima?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier leaned on Lambert’s back, still tired. “You pick. Try a place where people will be nice. I’m still rather sorry we didn’t burn the place down behind us.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Then let’s go south of Vizima. Better luck with smaller towns being more welcoming, they don’t see as much traffic. Fewer options to kill their monsters.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They traveled for a week, well past Vizima. Lambert hunted them game at night, and they tried to find clear spots to watch the stars as they slept. It was quiet, and calm, and avoiding the towns meant they moved fast. One particularly lovely campsite near a small pond they set up camp early. Jaskier was delighted with the beauty of the location, floating in the pond until Lambert called him out for food. “Lambert, I’m all shaggy. Would you give me my kit?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert scoffed, pulling the roast hares off the fire and driving the sticks into the ground so they could cool enough to eat. “You hate doing it yourself. Swim over here, may as well do this while you’re already ready to wash off.” He took off his boots and socks, rolling his pant legs up before sitting on a rock at the edge of the pond. Jaskier lounged in front of him obnoxiously. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Get your hairy ass over here, or I won’t trim it for you. Shave it all off yourself, it’ll be crooked and I’ll laugh at you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ah! You wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wedged himself between Lambert’s knees, and the witcher tilted his head up and got to work, trimming it down and shaving his neck again. It made his jawline and cheekbones look sharp enough to cut a hand, but his hair had grown so long, it could nearly be put in a ponytail. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Want the hair cut too? You’re nearly long enough to tie it back.” Lambert dragged his hands through it, pulling it into a ponytail. It was extremely flattering, with the shorter fringe falling down, but it made the scars very noticeable. He let it go, and waited. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It makes them obvious, doesn’t it.” Jaskier said quietly. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“They’re on your face, songbird. Never gonna be able to truly hide them. It looks fantastic on you, but let’s leave it until we can get you in front of a mirror to decide. Can’t uncut your hair. Now go dunk, let’s eat before the damn horse tries to eat your bedroll again.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>With the food demolished, they laid down. Jaskier rested his head on Lambert’s stomach and he sang a soft lullaby about starlight. Lambert brushed through Jaskier’s hair with his fingers before asking, “We can be in Cidaris tomorrow, unless you want to go to Gors Velen?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Anything we need there? Supplies?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not really. Probably more assholes for you to beat up, if you like.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ah, no thank you, then.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“A bed would be nice, though.” </span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lambert.” Quiet laughter filled the clearing as they watched the stars. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Splash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is what happens when you write during a long car drive. Not super happy with it but 🤷🏼 moving right along.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The ride into Cidaris was slow, stopping in quite a few towns along the way. Lambert was truly getting tired of drowners, but the bog hag was a refreshing change. They didn’t stay in inns, Lambert insisting he wanted to save their coin for plans he had. He sorely regretted this when the easy griffin contract turned out to be an archgriffin, and the poison burn down his leg had him limping for two days. Jaskier had been at a campsite close enough to see the big beast dive down at Lambert- recognizing the difference as quickly as Lambert did, readying their supplies to flush any acid. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It had been a lucky shot, moments before the witcher drove his sword through its heart. It spit a weak, dripping glob of acid that hit Lambert’s hip, burning away his trousers to the knee. “Fuck me sideways with a pitchfork you overgrown turkey!” Lambert roared, chopping angrily at the head before limping his way back to the campsite. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier had to cut his pants off, a fact that greatly irritated Lambert more than the damage did. He badgered the witcher into staying an extra day at the campsite by sitting on his pack and refusing to let him have his spare pair of pants. By the next day, the skin was a pale pink scar, but Jaskier still insisted on covering it with a salve and wrapping it up again before they rode away. The trousers were replaced after turning in the head for the contract. From there, they headed north, following a tip about a town on the northern coast of Cidaris with a siren problem. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It took two days to get there, following a rocky coastline. The town was situated in a small cove off a larger bay, with the town facing a long island off the coast that blocked the worst of the sea weather with sheer stone cliffs. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The town alderman had a contract for four sirens that had moved in. Jaskier wanted to come as support, but Lambert forbade him. The sirens had nested on a cliffside cave in the island- and since Lambert had to row out, there was nowhere for the bard to safely hide. Even if he stayed on the beach, there was a wide open meadow beyond the sand dunes, with only the small town around the inn and cottages that dotted the coastline. Jaskier was told to wait an hour after the screams of the sirens had stopped, to give Lambert time to head back himself before worrying. He packed what Jaskier considered a</span>
  <em>
    <span> very concerning </span>
  </em>
  <span>amount of grapeshot bombs. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He packed all the bombs in a small bag, and a small container of soft wax. Jaskier asked, very concerned, “Lambert, where and why have you been hoarding </span>
  <em>
    <span>so many </span>
  </em>
  <span>bombs</span>
  <em>
    <span>? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember packing that many.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert shrugged. They’d been stored wrapped in the heavy winter vests and cloaks that were only kept along to keep everything else dry, and help them make it back up the mountain come winter. The bombs were incredibly useful, and with so many years of practice they were perfectly stable. Still, he usually only carried one or two in his potion bag at a time. This did not make Jaskier feel better, so Lambert shrugged. “I’m going to go dispose of some of them now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier forced Lambert to stop, shoving a small bottle of Swallow in his armor pocket, pressing on it, eyes wide. “An hour past the screams. You better be here, I’ll have dinner waiting.” Lambert nodded, busily stuffing wax in his ears as he left. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He dragged the small rowboat, wading into the surf before rowing out. If he didn’t go now, he’d have to wait until well past dark for the tides to change again. More potions? No thank you. Cat always stung, and his bottles always lasted hours. Very unpleasant after a contract was complete. He rowed out, cursing boats, cursing waves, cursing sirens, and even cursing wet socks. He tied the boat off, then for good measure rolled a larger rock up against the boat, wedging it in place. He was not willing to swim back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He slung the bag over his shoulder and crept around the island. It was beautiful. A rocky coastline that broke the waves, leading up to a long slope. It was a grassy meadow full of the sharp grasses and scrub brush that could withstand the salt of the sea wind, filled with hardy flowers and a few big juniper bushes. From the top of the cliff he could see the far northern side of the island that was open to the sea, had a hidden sandy beach and a small, rundown cottage. It was on this side of the beach, in a shallow cave protected from the sea wind by the tall cliffs, was where he found the nest of sirens. He counted six, of course. They always underestimated the number. He was downwind, and hidden in the brush, so he crept as close as he could before lighting and lobbing the first bomb, casting a Quen and ducking down. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The blast shattered the cliff above the cave, burying most of the nest. Four sirens burst out, screaming, looking for him. Two took to the water, and the other two took off airborne and almost immediately saw him. They dove with ear splitting shrieks, and Lambert winced even with the wax blocking his ears. He snatched another bomb out, lighting and flinging it before diving to the ground with another Quen. A few of the grapeshot bursts shattered his shield, but both sirens hit the ground, wings torn to shreds and screaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They writhed, crawling across the ground snapping and snarling at him. As soon as they were in range, he snarled, casting a blazing igni that burned them both, lighting the dry grasses along with them. Once they stopped screaming, he saw the missing two come crawling up on the beach. He lit another bomb, flinging it between them, but it exploded too close to the water and only maimed the one who hadn’t already taken wing. It was an annoying battle, avoiding the flailing wing and angry claws of the downed siren, and weathering the shrieking of her sister. He cast Quen as often as he could but still took a hit to the shoulder. She snatched at his sword arm, his offhand setting her sister alight. She managed to lift him off the ground before he could swing around and cast his inferno directly into her face. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. He dragged the corpses together before piling all the driftwood he could find on the corpses. He lit it up, and went to inspect the nest. He couldn’t see all the way inside, it was too high up and above a deep section of the water. So he just tossed one more bomb as far in as he could get, which shattered the bottom section of the cave this time, shearing off another portion of the cliff face. At least they couldn’t rebuild the nest later. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He watched the fire for a while, knowing that Jaskier would have started counting the time. He hoped the black smoke would set his mind at ease. Just as he stood, resigning himself to the painful, slow progress of rowing back with one ripped up shoulder he remembered the small vial of Swallow. He pulled it out, considering it quietly before he popped the cap and drank it down. He hadn’t promised to take it, but he did promise to show him the wounds. If he was lucky, maybe they would heal enough that Jaskier wouldn’t get that little crease between his eyebrows when he has wounds that need stitching. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>With a huff, Lambert dragged himself back to the beach, released the boat and set to rowing himself back. He took his time, not wanting to strain his shoulder more than he had to. But still, Jaskier was waiting on the beach, and splashed out as soon as Lambert was close enough, pulling the boat to shore. He took the bag out of the boat and as soon as they had the boat dragged up past the high tide markers, started fussing over his torn armor. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Jaskier, stop. It’ll be fine until we get to the inn.” The bard wouldn’t stop touching it until Lambert took his hand, and dragged him along. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>As promised, there was dinner waiting, though it had gone cold. Shrugging off his armor, Lambert set upon it, a baked fish over lentils. Jaskier sat fidgeting. “Eat, Jaskier.” Lambert waved to his untouched plate. “You should have eaten while it was hot, come on. I took the swallow you gave me, I’ll be fine for a little longer. I’ll wash it myself, you can stitch it after.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How could I eat? The screaming was horrific, Lambert. So discordant!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert stopped eating, and glared. “You will not touch my shoulder until your plate is clear, Jaskier. There’s absolutely no point in fretting about a wound of mine that will heal on it’s own if you won’t take care of yourself.” He pointed the fork at him. “No. Not a godsdamned word, It’d heal. Ugly, but it would. Eat.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arguments aside, both men were starving and the plates were cleared in minutes. Jaskier had already set out the medical kit, and as soon as they were done, he pulled Lambert to his feet. He tugged the witcher’s shirt up, as he pulled his left arm out. Guiding it over his head, he sat Lambert back in the chair, and carefully pulled the shirt off the bloodsoaked wounds. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They weren’t as deep, but would still need stitches to heal more cleanly. Jaskier washed his hands in a small bowl, bringing over a tiny knife and proceeded to pick out small bits of shirt from the four different punctures. One had already started to heal over, and Lambert hissed, his hand coming up and gripping the bard’s hip. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sorry, it’s almost out. It’s a fair sized chunk of your shirt, can’t leave it.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert grit his teeth and nodded. The adrenaline from the fight was long gone, and freshly healed skin is always far more sensitive. After it was cleaned, stitched and bandaged, Jaskier inspected the shirt. It was mendable, so he tossed it in the water to wash, Lambert looking on bemused. The bard was on a warpath. So Lambert just kicked off his boots, propped his chin in his left hand and watched him work. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stirred slightly when he felt gentle hands on his face. “Wake up, darling. You can’t sleep here, you’ll get a crick. Really, you’re a puppy, helpless without me aren’t you? Come along to bed. At least you got your own boots off.” Lambert grumbled he wasn’t a puppy, but allowed himself to be relocated. “Let go, Lambert, how am I to get into bed if you won’t let go of my shirt? Ugh.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier couldn’t unpick Lambert’s hand from his shirt, and didn’t want to risk pulling away, which would pull at his stitches. Every attempt to pry his hand open made him sleepily growl. So Jaskier just climbed up on the bed, climbing over top of Lambert to settle into his left side, taking care not to jostle his shoulder. “You’re insufferable. I can’t even get under the blanket this way.” But for all his complaints, Jaskier soon fell asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>-------</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert woke up the next morning with a shiver. His bandages had twisted slightly, and he realized he’d managed to wrap the blankets that he vaguely remembered Jaskier tucking over top of him completely over the bard, and was curled around a bard-shaped lump in the bed beside him. He slid out carefully, and managed to dig out and put on one of his clean shirts before going in search of breakfast. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The tavern owner was awake, and greeted him cheerily. “Good morning, Master Witcher! I saw you come in late last night, but as you looked a bit beaten up I left you be. Want me to send my boy about your coin?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Food first, for me and my friend. Whose cottage is that, on the island?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, that’s been empty for years. It should be sound. Are you looking to rent it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert just raised his eyebrow at the man.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Here, take the pies, I’ll send my boy up to knock when Old Roch arrives.” He set down two pies and mugs of warm honeyed ale.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert stuffed one of the pies in his mouth, and nodded at the man before heading back upstairs. He left the other pie on the table with an ale, and finished his breakfast before mending his mostly dry shirt. He’d just finished with mending his armor when the boy knocked. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Downstairs, Old Roch turned out to be a craggy woman with a weather beaten face. Her hair was long and silver, but there was no lack of strength in her poise. “Sir Witcher, I hear you’ve taken down our Siren problem?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Contract was for four, there were six. Took out the nest, and the cliff they built it on. They won't come back.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Excellent news. I assume the smoke and smell was disposal?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Burnt four corpses. The other two fell in the water, but won't be a problem.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Much appreciated. My good man here was telling me you were interested in the cottage for a holiday, we’d be delighted to offer you it’s use as long as you like. I can have someone sent out today to clean it and stock it with provisions, unless you prefer to do that yourself.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert glanced back up towards the room, calculating how long it would take him to prepare the cabin when the old woman spoke again. “Not to press, but I assume it’s a… surprise, as it were? Your young man was talking about heading farther west after you’d returned. If you like, I’ll have someone sent out now, and you can bring the supplies with you in the boat.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert nodded. “He likes to sleep in, so if I’m quick, it’ll be done before he’s up to fret. I just need somewhere to stable our horse for the time.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Don’t worry. I’ll keep the beast in my stable. It’s been empty for years, I no longer have the constitution to ride, and there’s plenty of room for a horse to roam a bit. I’ll have my son care for it as long as you wish. You’ve done us a great service. Thank you.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She patted his arm, and set the pouch of coin on the table, much to Lambert’s surprise. At his confused face, she sighed. “Some of us were raised to remember to be grateful to your kind, young one. Take your rest. Melitele knows, life gives us few enough of them.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>----------------------</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert let Jaskier sleep until he and the innkeep finished packing a crate of supplies for the week, including a keg of ale and a few bottles of good wine. Only then did he head back upstairs. Jaskier was no longer hidden completely in the lump of blankets, but had rolled over, blinking blearily at the bright sun coming in the window.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Lamb? How long did you let me sleep in, I feel like I may have melted into a puddle.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Long enough that I managed a surprise, and have considered eating your breakfast. Get up, it’s all nearly ready. We just have to drop off the horse.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wait, drop him off? You didn’t sell the big beastie did you? It’s not -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, Jaskier. Eat. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh. No, I do like surprises.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hurry up, then.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Did you clean your wounds this morning?” Jaskier asked around a mouthful of meat pie, for Lambert to shake his head. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>After Jaskier cleaned and rebandaged his wounds, they both dressed and headed out with the crate, Jaskier leading the big horse with the saddle and saddlebags just balanced on his back. Lambert took them to the beach and put the crate and saddlebags in the boat, as a young man was busily rowing back. He splashed up to the beach, dragging the little boat up behind him. “Aye, Sir! My gran said you’d be here. All good, now, I can take the big beast. He doesn’t bite, does he?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Only if you’re dumb enough to put your hands in his mouth.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The kid laughed, throwing his head back. “Fair enough! She had me bring out firewood as well, s’why I’m so late.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert pressed a few coins in the boy’s hand, and when he went to shoo the boy away he argued. “Naw, I’m already all soaked, why don’t I push ya in? Save ya from rowin’ damp at least.” He ushered them both into the rowboat, and with a great shove hollered. “Have fun now!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier was wide-eyed, staring into the water, trailing his hand before realizing he’d ought to offer to help row. “Ah, sit back songbird. It’s not far, I’m fine.”  This time, he rowed around the island to the soft sand beach on the ocean side, the open ocean waves rocking the little boat more than he liked. But it was an easy trip, and he dragged them up on shore, finding a metal ring bolted to a rock for him to lash the boat to. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Lambert is that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cottage?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>“No, it’s a castle. Ours for a week or so. I haven’t seen the inside, but we’ve camped in less so-” He was cut off by the bard plowing into him, a tight hug gripped around his ribcage. “Jask?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The bard’s eyes were shining wet, and the blue one impossibly bright. “You’re the sweetest. Ok! I’ll get the saddlebags, let’s see what we have!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The cottage was tiny, just one room. The crate and saddlebag took up the entire table, but he found a large pile of firewood in the kitchen to compliment the pile he’d seen outside, the keg of ale, and fresh linens on the bed. It was small, but would work. It looked sturdy enough to hold them both comfortably for a little while. Jaskier, meanwhile, was busily removing his vest. He hung it carefully on one of the bedposts before coaxing Lambert into removing his armor as well. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on, I want to swim!” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier bounded out the door, stripping down to his smalls on the beach before splashing in, floating happily in the surf. Lambert was especially glad that sirens tended to be territorial, so the waters were safe and clear for now. He stripped down as well, diving down and swimming to the ocean floor. When he looked up, he could see the shattered sunlight silhouette of Jaskier above him, broad shoulders, a narrow waist and those long, ridiculous legs. He swam up, popping up beside the bard, startling him into splashing and sputtering. They spent most of the afternoon on the little beach, swimming, then laying out to dry. Jaskier picking through the sand to find tiny bits of shell. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The sun just started to set when Lambert stood, dressing and ruffling the bard’s still damp hair. It wasn’t long after that that Jaskier followed him in, sunkissed and salted from the sea, the honey scent of his happiness filling the cottage. The stew was cooking over the stove, and they passed a quiet night watching the stars come out over the ocean with a mug of ale. Lambert tossed another log on the fire, and when night time chill off the ocean set the bard shivering, he herded him into the bed. It was small, but not the smallest space they had shared. Jaskier nudged Lambert into rolling over, and pulled the witcher back into his chest, wrapping around him while burrowing beneath the blankets. Sleep came easy and deep for them both. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Short chapter, I know.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier woke early, wandering out onto the beach. He left his shirt and boots behind, rolling up his trousers so he could splash in the waves without getting them wet. He looked out over the water, the warm wind promising the heat of summer. He turned, looking for Lambert only to see him in the distance, doing his forms across the clifftop. The days were lazy, Jaskier spending most of his time on the beach, sun slowly bringing a bronze tone to his skin with long days spent shirtless. </p><p> </p><p>He found a small mirror in the cottage, so nearly a week into their stay when the heat and humidity became nearly unbearable, Lambert took him up to the cliff top to cut his hair. He would hold up the cut bits, letting the sea breeze blow the small strands away. He trimmed nearly all the back length off, to as long as it was when Lambert first met him, over a year ago in a smelly stone cell. He left the front long, fussing with the fringe until it hung slightly asymmetrically to just above his chin, covering his left eye and burns.<br/><br/>“That what you wanted?”<br/><br/>Jaskier sighed with relief. His hair and beard trimmed, he looked far less the unkempt bard and more roguish. The fringe looked like a fashion choice, less like hiding his weakness.<br/><br/>“Thanks, Lambert. Where did you get so good at cutting hair? You never change yours, though it’s plenty long enough to pull forward.”<br/><br/>Lambert shrugged. “Cats. And nah, don’t like it in my eyes in a fight. Bit of beeswax, stays the fuck out of my way. Efficient.”<br/><br/>“ <em> Efficient </em> . Oh, you silly witcher. Go catch us a big fish, then. I’ll start a fire on the beach, it’s too muggy to try and cook in that cottage. I might actually die from the heat.”<br/><br/>Lambert snorted, but did as he was bid. He walked to the far side of the island, where the rocky coast dropped off more suddenly. With the net and a basket, he managed to catch four decently sized fish, tossing the majority of smaller sea creatures back. He was damp and hungry by the time the shadows were getting long, and the small black line of smoke told him Jaskier had probably already set up a small campfire on the beach.<br/><br/></p><p>When he arrived, it wasn’t just a fire. Jaskier had managed to set up an entire picnic. He’d dragged out blankets and a basket. It was filled with the four bottles of wine, bread, and one of the small wheels of cheese. “Lambert!” Jaskier called joyfully, waving. He was standing on a tall rock at the edge of the beach, the wind blowing his hair back. Lambert thought it was a shame how much he still hid his face, even with one eye grey his whole face was bright and expressive.<br/><br/>Lambert quickened his steps, impressed at the display. “The wine tonight?”<br/><br/>“Ah, figured it’d be nice with fresh fish! If we’re lucky it’ll rain soon, break this soup we’re breathing.”<br/><br/>Jaskier set the fish up to roast, descaling and rubbing salt on before propping them up over low flames on long sticks. Lambert took the time to open the wine, and handed one bottle over to Jaskier. By the time the fish was done, Lambert was already well into his second bottle of wine and Jaskier half done with his first. For all the bard’s delight in setting up a picnic, he’d forgotten the plates, so they ate with their fingers, loose and laughing with the wine. They were splitting the last bottle of wine when the rain started. Fat, heavy raindrops splattered, making the fire hiss. Jaskier stood, unsteadily, looking off at the slowly encroaching wall of the storm. He took off for the cliff, wine in hand, so Lambert followed.<br/><br/>He stayed well back from the edge- for all his practice, Jaskier still knew his balance and depth perception weren’t the greatest, especially after nearly two bottles of wine. He’d left his stick in the cottage all week. Still, Lambert wrapped a hand in the back of the bard’s shirt like he did every night he sat on the walls of Kaer Morhen. The rain was warm, large drops spattering at his skin.<br/><br/>“You know, I don’t think about how much better it would be if I was dead, anymore. Even now, I don’t. Don’t have that feeling, the pull, to just. Step over the edge. Don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t feel like a bard. I don’t feel like <em> Jaskier </em> anymore. But I don’t feel hopeless.”<br/><br/>“Jules, I-”<br/><br/>“You should call me that, more often. You know.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t tell you my name so many months ago for you to use it so rarely.”<br/><br/>Lambert winced. “Sorry.”<br/><br/>He waved him off, the movement making him stumble slightly, “Not what I meant. What about you? We smile, we laugh. I think I’m close to happy. Or will be, soon.”<br/><br/>Lambert tipped his head back, letting the rain wash over his face. “I think I’ve found what makes me happy. But. Ah, fuck.” His shoulders shuddered, the rain not hard enough to disguise the tears.<br/><br/>“Oh, oh no. Lambert, no.” Jaskier turned into Lambert’s arms, cradling his face and wiping his tears. “Don’t. Let go, it’s okay. You’ll always love him and miss him, but you don’t need to feel guilty about finding happiness. Every story you’ve told me about him he delighted in bringing you joy, making you laugh. He’d be happy to know you’re still finding a way to smile. Come on, tell me another story about him. Tell me your favorite story of him. What made you smile, the most?”<br/><br/>The rain was harder now, but Lambert’s golden eyes were bright in the quickly darkening sky. “Favorite? Probably when I found out he could <em> purr.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> Lambert backed away from the cliff, with the rain coming more steadily and the wind harsher he didn’t want to risk his friend too near the edge. He was pleasantly buzzed, but Jaskier was unsteady on his feet. So he sat down in the soggy grass, pulling Jaskier down beside him. Jaskier rested his head on the witcher’s shoulder, just listening to him talk as they watched the huge storm boil over itself, the haze of the downpour over the ocean slowly approaching, with the distant roll of thunder.<br/><br/>“We were caught in a storm like this, but way up north. Caingorn. It was near winter, I was going to go over the pass back to Kaedwen. He’d made plans to meet with the caravan, they were going to overwinter nearby. But this brutal fucking storm just started dumping this ice rain on us- had to hole up under a tree for nearly two days. Everything was soaked- we’d rushed to set up the tent. But he couldn’t stop shivering that first night, so we stripped down to warm up in a bedroll. We hadn’t even kissed yet, and the dumbass cracked a joke that if I wanted him naked I could’ve just asked.” Lambert shook his head, laughing.<br/><br/>“But he wouldn’t stop <em> shivering. </em> So I’m just rubbing his back, trying to warm his dumbass up. And he starts <em> purring. </em> It was all I could do to keep him from running off into the storm. So fuckin’ embarrassed. They’re the only witchers who purr. A few years later after we got together, I found every way I could to make him keep purring.” He waggled his eyebrows at Jaskier. “Did you know cats can purr <em> and </em> yowl at the same time? That was a trick.”<br/><br/>They laughed, Lambert’s eyes still bright with memories and tears, before the rumble of thunder crashed above them. They scrambled back to the cottage, Lambert’s hand wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist, keeping him on his feet as the wind whipped sideways, blowing a sheet of water. The picnic basket was gone, the fire was out, and the blankets were soaked by the time they got back to the cottage. “Leave them!” Lambert had to yell over the thunder, pulling Jaskier towards the cottage. </p><p><br/>They stood inside, the wind and rain buffeting the small cottage before bursting into laughter again. Lambert tossed another log on the small fire in the fireplace relighting it with a small igni before stripping off and hanging his clothes nearby to dry. He pulled on dry pants as Jaskier hung his own clothes up before changing into dry ones, wobbling unsteadily as he tried to pull his pants up. Lambert’s eyes tracked him across the room, long hair soaking, eyes wide and bright, watching him curiously. He couldn’t help but think Aiden would have loved this bright, feral bard. He reached out, and pulled him over with loose fingers, cupping his cheek with one hand, impulsively wiping a drip of water off his bottom lip gently with his thumb before walking the drunken bard backwards to the bed and tucking him in. “Go to sleep, Julian.”<br/><br/>Lambert knelt in front of the fire to meditate, intent on keeping the small cottage warm and safe. The threat of the storm was too much to let him sleep, the thunder and the driving rain drowning out any other sound. The rain blew sideways for hours, fat, heavy drops pounding on the walls. It raged nearly all night, the crashing waves against the stone cliffs loud and imposing.  Lambert just hoped the small boat was tied securely enough to not be swept away. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up with a hangover was not new to Jaskier, but thankfully he had not drunk so much as to make an utter fool of himself. He remembered a bright moment on the clifftop last night where Lambert’s eyes positively shined, talking about Aiden’s purr. His whole face was bright and open, but he wasn’t sure if it was the happiness of the memory or the alcohol. Maybe it was the alcohol <em> he </em> drank, making the details bright. Lambert’s eyes hadn’t dimmed when the storm crashed over them and he was bullied into bed to sleep off the wine. It was <em> definitely </em> the wine.<br/>
<br/>
So he put on his boots and a shirt to wander outside, with a handful of sliced cured meat in hand. He climbed up to the cliff top to watch Lambert at his forms. He’d woken early today, the sun still low and pink in the sky. He sat on a flat rock, and admired the long, lean line of Lambert’s body as he went through the motions one slow, deliberate movement at a time, pausing before moving on to the next. He was nearly as tall as Lambert, but the witcher had much wider shoulders, built thick and broad with muscle. The play of these muscles on his back and arms as he moved were hypnotizing, and Jaskier was fairly sure if he couldn’t get himself under control the witcher would <em> smell </em> what admiration his shirtless form inspired, and that would be embarrassing. His waist was trim, but Jaskier’s eyes got caught on the play of the long muscles of his back, and the two small dimples just above his hips. It wasn’t until Lambert turned back, swinging the sword loosely in a circle that Jaskier startled out of his reverie.<br/>
<br/>
Lambert could feel the weight of Julian’s gaze on his back as he went through the forms. He was halfway done, and the stretch felt good after the stillness of meditation. When he turned, however, he nearly dropped his sword, the soft pink light of the sunrise making the bard seem to glow. Fuck. One bright blue eye was watching him, smiling.<br/>
<br/>
No use now, there’s no way he could focus on the poses while the bard sat there <em> glowing </em> , so he wandered over and sat down beside him. “Sing a song, Julian. Been awhile, and you’re smiling an awful lot this week. Sing me a good one.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier thinks, looking out at the ocean. “Alright,” he concedes with a smile. He hasn’t felt  like a bard lately, but he’s not performing tonight. And maybe this is as honest as he can be right now.<br/>
<br/>
<em> Fáinne fí i gcoim na hoíche.<br/>
</em><em>(Níl) 'tada riamh nach mbíonn thart.<br/>
</em><em>Diabhail fhios a'm cá bhfuil deireadh mo scéil<br/>
</em><em>Ach táim ar an mbealach ceart.</em></p><p>
  <em>Deir siad liom gan a dhul sa tseans,<br/>
</em>
  <em>Nach dtagann ciall roimh aois.<br/>
</em>
  <em>Bhuel 'sé m'aistear é,<br/>
</em>
  <em>Ní léir cén fhad a mhairfidh sé,<br/>
</em>
  <em>'Sé togha ar aon chaoi.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> So Lig mé saor ón suan 'tá orm.<br/>
</em>
  <em>(Tai)speáin 'om bóthar éasca cothrom.<br/>
</em>
  <em>Bainfidh mé ceann scríbe amach, sí m'aidhm,<br/>
</em>
  <em>Cíbe treo átá i ndán.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> (Tá) Mé ag iompar úalach mór an tsaoil<br/>
</em>
  <em>Ach níl a'm ach péire lámh.<br/>
</em>
  <em>Suile troma is an ghrian a dhul faoi<br/>
</em>
  <em>Ach ní chodlaíonn mé go sámh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Bris amach agus tú fós sach óg."<br/>
</em>
  <em>Chinnigh mé le dul in aghaidh.<br/>
</em>
  <em>Seo mo ré, Seasfaidh mé an fód,<br/>
</em>
  <em>'S leanfaidh mé ar aghaidh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lambert was quiet for a long while, before smiling. “Been awhile since I heard that language. Need waking up, bardling?” </p><p><br/>
Jaskier laughed. “And where’d you learn it?”<br/>
<br/>
“My mother. I think she may have even sang that one, at some point.”<br/>
<br/>
“Good memory, I hope?”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert raised his eyebrow, then stood, and pulled the bard to his feet. They walked back down to the cottage- it’d been a week and a half, their supplies mostly exhausted. Jaskier folded the blankets that Lambert had wrung out and hung up when he rose. They were still damp, but could be dried out more in the cottage by the fire. Lambert busied himself by flipped the boat back over and inspecting it for damage. They never actually discussed it, but they were both feeling the itch of staying in one place for too long. The small keg of ale was gone, and so was the crate of food. Lambert stood barefooted on the beach, his hair loose and blowing in the breeze when Jaskier came out with a handful of dried fruit to share. He stood next to him, knocking his shoulder into the witcher’s.<br/>
<br/>
“This was a good idea, Jules. Only a couple weeks ‘til Midsummer, too. Then we get to find that ridiculous brother of mine. He was so keen on it, he may already be there, waiting.”<br/>
<br/>
“He misses you, I’m sure.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sure, bardling. It’s me he’s interested in seeing.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier made a questioning noise, “Did you not want to?”<br/>
<br/>
“Sometimes, Julian, I think maybe so much time with Geralt made you as stupid as he is. Let’s get going. If we swing a bit wide south, we’ll still have plenty of time to get to Ellander.”<br/>
<br/>
As Lambert rowed, Jaskier lounged sideways, trailing his hands in the water. “I hope a goddamn fish bites your fingers off.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh! How <em> rude. </em> ” With a wide, mischievous smile, he twisted to the side and flopped an arm across his face, looking at Lambert upside down and crooning<br/>
<br/>
<em> Rowboat  </em></p><p>
  <em> Row me to the shore  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He don't want to be my friend no more  </em>
</p><p><em> He dug a hole in the bottom of my soul </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> He don't want to be my friend no more </em></p><p> </p><p>Lambert paused to put his foot on Jaskier’s head and shove gently, making the bard squawk and flail. “You know it ain’t true you damned squawking bird, now. Meant to ask you, we’re not far from Cidaris. The markets there, we can find you a new lute, or any other instrument you want.”<br/>
<br/>
“Lambert,” Jaskier asked his voice low, “Was that the plans you were saving for?”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert grumbled, and instead of answering, jumped out of the boat. In his rush to escape admitting his plans, he landed chest deep in the water, but dragged the boat up to shore anyway, grumbling the whole way. They unloaded their bags and the blankets, and Lambert strode off to the inn, soaked and still muttering. Jaskier wandered off into the town, looking for the alderman’s house to get the horse ready.<br/>
<br/>
It was quite easy, the alderman’s son seeing him coming. Between the two of them the big horse was tacked up before Lambert even showed up. He waved a bag, leaning on the stable door. “What do you have there?”<br/>
<br/>
“Was given lunch. There’s some onion rolls, apparently stuffed with cheese? Filled up our waterskins and even got a wine skin. Ready to go or are you still flirting?”<br/>
<br/>
The alderman’s son nearly jumped back from where his hand had nearly been touching Jaskier’s, stammering and blushing. “My apologies Sir Witcher I meant no harm!”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert laughed, “He’s a pretty one, isn’t he? Ready to go, or are we staying another day?”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier flushed bright red before dragging the big lazy horse out of the stable, followed by a swaggering Lambert. Jaskier wasn’t sure why he felt so embarrassed by Lambert’s question- he was teasing, his golden eyes bright, that slightly crooked smile. He didn’t seem angry or frustrated, and certainly didn’t <em> sound </em> like he thought poorly of Jaskier over it, but he didn’t dare look back. He only just managed to get out of town when Lambert caught up, fingers around his elbow.<br/>
<br/>
“Whoa, hey, you went all sour there Jules.”<br/>
<br/>
“What?”<br/>
<br/>
He waved at his face. “Smell. Did I step in it? We can stay, if you want. You’re smelling like too much right now, can’t figure it out. Are you embarrassed? Almost say scared, but?”<br/>
<br/>
“I was only flirting.” Jaskier said quietly. “We were leaving, I wasn’t going to do anything. Didn’t <em> want to. </em> Then got worried you thought poorly of me for it. He hated it when I’d find… <em> other company.” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> Lambert tugged on his sleeve. “We’ve been through this, ages ago. If you want to stay in a town, or go a direction, let me know. We’ll work it out. I really will stay another day, if you like.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier smiled wanly, “I wasn’t lying, Lambert. It really just was only flirting. I don’t want him. However, I was thinking. I don’t want another instrument. In a pinch, singing without one works too, and plenty of things can be used as drums if necessary. But would you teach me to use a blade? You looked so peaceful doing your forms, and while I do love my stick, I’d at least like to know what I’m doing even if I don’t carry a visible one.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>And so for the next week as they headed towards Cidaris, Jaskier would do forms with Lambert every morning. The witcher would do his set before dawn, before walking Jaskier through, gentle fingers adjusting a stance, tapping a foot into better position, or stepping in close behind him to straighten his back and shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
It wasn’t until the gates of Cidaris that Jaskier’s panic struck again. “Lambert!” He hissed, and the Witcher raised his eyebrow. “Whatever you do, in this city do <em> not </em> call me anything but Julian, and not bard!”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert gave him a very mischevious grin. “An ex?”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier flushed. “Kind of? Yes, Okay, maybe. I may have, possibly, Slept with my rival in an ill advised night. He stole my songbook, passed off a bunch of my work as his own. Called me a <em> talentless wastrel. </em> So. Really more of a nemesis. We didn’t date very long.”<br/>
<br/>
“What’s his name, songbird?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh no! I have seen that look on your face. We are here for a sword, you said. And then on our way!” Jaskier kept his finger pointed until Lambert moved away, still smiling. He’s going to have to keep an eye on that Witcher.<br/>
<br/>
They rode through the city, Jaskier stayed on the horse, as Lambert hunted down armor stall after armor stall before finding one whose quality he didn’t immediately scoff at. He picked up a small sword, balancing it and inspecting the edge. It was then Jaskier saw him, caterwauling down the path. He was dressed in court finery, and making a big production of greeting some of the merchants. Jaskier slid down off the big horse, hiding behind the tall withers hoping he could remain unnoticed. Lambert’s eyes slid to him, the bright gold narrowing. Jaskier nodded, and Lambert smirked as he saw the blond haired bard prance around the corner. Of <em> course </em>he headed straight for Lambert, standing apparently alone in front of a weapons merchant, his two big blades strapped to his back.</p><p> </p><p>Lambert continued his comparison of the wares before settling on a short, narrow one with flowers etched along the center of the blade. He gestured for a scabbard and belt for it, picking a pale leather one. He’d just finished haggling when Jaskier watched Valdo reach to touch Lambert’s shoulder, only to find himself flat on the ground with two quickly blossoming black eyes. His nose was bloodied and Lambert looked him over, bored.<br/>
<br/>
“Hm. Heard the song you were singing about Witchers back there. Would think you’d know not to go grabbing one you don’t know. It’s a damn shame, looks pretty well like you’ve pissed yourself.” Before Valdo could scramble back,  Lambert had already cheerfully emptied his water skin on the bard’s pants. Scooping up the abandoned lute, he followed as the blonde man crawled backwards, howling about an attack, the small crowd murmuring and moving to let them both pass. “Oh, just trying to give you your lute back? Unless you don’t want it?” Lambert tossed it so it spun, the terrified bard fumbling the catch. It cracked loudly on the ground before Valdo managed to scramble away. “What a shame,” Lambert said loudly, to no one in particular. “Such a cowardly bard. I thought they were made of braver stuff.”<br/>
<br/>
The crowd glanced warily at him as he wandered back to Jaskier, pushing him back up on the horse, while murmuring, “Guess I’m lucky mine is brave?”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert grinned at Jaskier’s squeak, and led the horse out of the city. It’d been a long time since he stayed here, and he didn’t want to risk the scuffle outing his friend.<br/>
<br/>
-------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>That night they camped on a bluff overlooking the coast and after Lambert fussed over Jaskier’s belt and scabbard. When he got the sword to hang properly, he nodded, stepping back. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to learn to keep the stick and the sword from tangling, but that’s a good length, you’ll be able to dual wield if you need to. I got the prettiest scabbard they had so you won’t read as much of a threat, less likely someone will pick a fight. Now come on, time to learn to take care of it.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier watched and followed carefully, and Lambert was sure he was going to slice up those long, delicate fingers. But the brand new sword was cleaned and oiled without a drop of blood being spilled.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Had enough of the sea for a while?” Lambert tossed rocks over the cliff edge as they sat side by side, sharing the wineskin and watching the moon rise. <br/>
<br/>
“Don’t know if such a sight is anything I could tire of, but I’ll forever cherish the memory, at the least.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert just nodded, pulling the bard up and away from the edge. “Come on, you’ve got a lot of work to do before you can use that blade, and if Vesemir finds out I’ve strapped one on you that you can’t use, I’ll be running the Killer the entire winter.”<br/>
<br/>
“Winter?”<br/>
<br/>
“Tired of me already? Though I suppose, if you wanted, Eskel would jump at the chance to take you around for the rest of the season.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert was very carefully not looking at him. “Lambert?” Jasker was patient, but it took a long time before he glanced over. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“It’s my middle name. Vesemir even said so. Lambert You Idiot of What The Fuck Are You Doing.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier burst out laughing. “Well finally, someone with a worse middle name than mine. <em> Alfred, </em> really. Thank you Mother. Fitting name for a viscount, I suppose.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll share. You can be Julian You Idiot of Kaer Morhen. Now a better middle name, and Vesemir would be proud.”<br/>
<br/>
“Would he?”<br/>
<br/>
“He’s a crotchety old fucker, but yes. He would.” Jaskier hummed, and they watched the moon rise as they fell asleep.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>----------------------------------------------------<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>With the heat of the summer starting to build, Lambert kept them on trails through forests between towns. The contracts they found had been easy, a few wraiths, a ghoul, and a nekker nest. Every morning Lambert did his forms, Jaskier following smoothly. He needed little correction- the moves were a slow dance, and dancing was something the bard had grown up doing. Lambert also had him sparring, alternating weapons every day to build his strength. He kept their movements slow- correct form would serve him better than speed for now, but he couldn’t build his skill with the sword only to let his staff lapse, even though he rarely used it outside of larger cities.<br/>
<br/>
But two weeks passed quickly, and now they stood looking down at a contract. They had only a week to get to Ellander, but as they passed through the market in Zevada a local merchant they had been purchasing supplies from begged Lambert to rid their town of the demon in the woods. The bit of paper was full of contradictions, and Jaskier had no idea what the beast could possibly be. So he had them sit at a table at the local bar, picking at a light breakfast as townfolk crept up to tell Lambert what they knew of the beast before running away.<br/>
<br/>
“Eat up, Jules. I am pretty sure I know what this is and they <em> reek </em> of fear. I could use your help with this one.”<br/>
<br/>
“My help?” Jaskier squeaked, dropping a strawberry.<br/>
<br/>
Lambert leaned back, crossing his arms and smirking at the bright red flush of the bard’s face. “Yes, you are especially skilled in what we’ll need. Ought to tell the town to give the contract to <em> you.” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> Jaskier gathered up the last of his fruit, and stood up. “Let’s go, then.”<br/>
<br/>
They walked in the woods, leading the plow horse behind as Jaskier slipped the big horse blueberries. The soft lazy nuzzle of his big lip as they walked was cheering, even when it mouthed at his sleeve looking for more after they were all gone. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take long to find a small clearing, where Lambert tied up the horse, hanging Jaskier’s staff off the pommel and sat Jaskier in the center. “Jules? I need you to sing. Happy songs, children’s songs. Doesn’t need to be loud. Just… gentle. The townsfolk have forgotten how to treat godlings, and this one’s decided to be a little shit instead of moving on. It’ll see me as a threat, but you, you it’ll be drawn to. I’m going to meditate. It won’t hurt you.”<br/>
<br/>
“I just… have to ask it to leave?”<br/>
<br/>
“Gently, yes. Treat it as a very dangerous child.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert walked around Jaskier, tucking himself at the edge of the clearing behind the bard, and settled himself into a light meditation. Jaskier shifted, humming and then, clear and low, started to sing. He sang soft and bright, silly songs and songs of sunshine. Songs of worship and praise, songs to teach and finally, a song of greeting the day.<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier saw the gleam of eyes after an hour of singing. He watched it creep around him, drawing closer. It looked all of a small, feral wood child if it weren’t for the green eyes with enormous black pupils and small, sharp antlers. As it crept out of the bush and into the sunlight, he slowly transitioned into a silly little melody of greeting a small friend. The small creature peered up at him, the soft blue of their skin was startling.<br/>
<br/>
“Hello little Godling. I was told you like songs.”<br/>
<br/>
The small creature nodded warily, and Jaskier held out a hand, slowly. “My friend told me they weren’t being very kind to you in the town right now. Have they forgotten you?”<br/>
<br/>
They nodded, long blonde hair swinging. “You needn’t stay where they are unkind, sweet one. Why not find a new home, where they will treasure you?”<br/>
<br/>
The tiny, feminine face gave an angry pout.<br/>
<br/>
“Midsummer will be here soon, little one. Plenty of towns will see you as a blessing. My friend and I are off to Ellander, for the festival. Or do you want us to remind them here how to better treat you?”<br/>
<br/>
The little head tilted, peering around Jaskier to look more carefully at Lambert. Jaskier turned slowly to watch the creature creep slowly closer. “His name is Lambert. He won’t hurt you.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert raised an eyebrow, slowly opening his eyes to peer at the small creature. “Well met, small one.”<br/>
<br/>
“ <em> Witcher.” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> “We travel together, yet I asked him to sing for you. We both know how towns like this end up for us.”<br/>
<br/>
“You won’t kill me?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why would I?”<br/>
<br/>
They stared at each other for a long while, before the little godling crept back to Jaskier. They took off their wild, ragged flower crown before placing it on Jaskier’s head. “Witcher-friend, sing another song. Then I will go, find a new home.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier sang softly, but this time he sang Lambert’s favorite Skelligean song he sang so many years ago. He thought it appropriate, a song for those seeking comfort. The little godling hummed, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the forest.<br/>
<br/>
As soon as it was gone, Lambert scrambled over. “Are you alright? Whatever it did made my medallion freak out.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier just smiled. “I don’t know what magic it has in a kiss, Lambert.”<br/>
<br/>
“Dumbass letting <em> forest spirits </em> give you gifts and <em> kiss you.” </em> He tugged the bard up, shoving him onto the horse. He left him at the edge of the woods, pointing. “I do not want to know what will happen if you remove those flowers before we know for sure it’s gone, so you stay here and I’ll get the payment. We’ll camp. Should still be a nice pond a few hours north of here.”<br/>
<br/>
---------------------</p><p> </p><p>They camped early, both of them eager to wash both themselves and their clothes. The small clearing around the pond was decorated with their hanging clothes to dry in the last of the sunshine. Jaskier had set up camp while Lambert bathed, both of them still rattled by the godling’s favoring of Jaskier. When Lambert strode back up to their little camp, bare chested, pants rolled up, wild haired and waving a blade, Jaskier blushed from tip to toes.<br/>
<br/>
“Go dunk, if you want a shave before I go hunt us dinner.” It didn’t take long, and Lambert dragged a log to sit on at the edge of the deep end of the pool. “Get over here you damn siren, let’s get you pretty for Eskel.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier swam over, peering up through the water, his hair swirling. His face was all mischief. The effect was ruined, or perhaps enhanced, by the fact the pond water was beautifully clear. His long, slender legs were lazily kicking, and Lambert rolled his eyes before splashing at the bard lazily with a foot. “Come on, I’m tired of rabbits. Maybe I can find us a turkey or some pheasant.”<br/>
<br/>
It didn’t matter how often Lambert had done this, but the soft drag of the blade on his neck, under his jaw, and then on his cheekbones made him shudder. The witcher ran his narrow, deft fingers through his beard, trimming it down. “Am I pretty enough for Eskel?”<br/>
<br/>
“He already calls you pretty bird, what do you think?”<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t, though.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert paused, wondering if he ought to. “You’re not just a pretty bird, though. You’re a dumbass.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier's laugh was bright and clear, and it followed Lambert as he left to finish dressing to go hunt. </p><p><br/>
By the time Lambert returned, all the clean clothes had been refolded, packed away, and Jaskier was humming while poking the fire, the crown of flowers on his head lopsided. He had indeed found them two very large pheasants, and he smirked when Jaskier crowed with delight. They ate the roast birds with a few roasted carrots while sitting next to the pond instead of the campfire. They tossed small bits of food into the water, watching the fish attack. When they were done, Lambert tossed the carcasses in the water for the fish to devour.<br/>
<br/>
“Come on, Jaskier. It’s early enough, grab your sword.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert still was moving slower, giving Jaskier the time to parry, stopping now and then to correct the angle of a stance. The clatter of the swords was quiet, both focused on their task when suddenly, Lambert froze, a hand up to stop Jaskier. He reached to pull him back behind him just as two hooded figures stepped out into the clearing.<br/>
<br/>
Lambert’s voice was a growl, breaking the tense silence.<br/>
<br/>
“ <em> Geralt.” </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song is <i>Avicii - Wake me up</i> in Gaeilge. If you haven't heard it, look it up. Seo Linn does a beautiful job. </p><p>Feeling my way through the darkness<br/>Guided by a beating heart<br/>I can't tell where the journey will end<br/>But I know where to start</p><p>They tell me I'm too young to understand<br/>They say I'm caught up in a dream<br/>Well life will pass me by<br/>if I don't open up my eyes<br/>Well that's fine by me</p><p>So wake me up when it's all over<br/>When I'm wiser and I'm older<br/>All this time I was finding myself<br/>And I didn't know I was lost</p><p>I tried carrying the weight of the world<br/>But I only have two hands<br/>Hope I get the chance to travel the world<br/>But I don't have any plans</p><p>Wish that I could stay forever this young<br/>Not afraid to close my eyes<br/>Life's a game made for everyone<br/>And love is the prize</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Ellander</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When Lambert reaches for him, Jaskier allows himself to be pulled behind him. He pivoted to his left, just as Lambert growled.<br/>
<br/>
The entire world shifted, tilting at the name, and he stumbled. “Julian?” Lambert murmured, not taking his eyes off Geralt. They both still had blades drawn, but Lambert was coiled tense and growling. Geralt flipped his hood back, golden eyes glowing, his white hair reflecting the moonlight. He turned to the small figure beside him, gesturing them forward and she carefully pulled back her hood.<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier sheathed his sword, stepping back up beside Lambert. He gently pushed him back with a hand, before calling out, “Ciri?”<br/>
<br/>
The tension skyrocketed, the girl shifted behind Geralt who drew his blade.<br/>
<br/>
Lambert moved in a flash in front of Jaskier, two long steps, swinging his steel out and across, making it clear to his brother that any challenge would be met by him. Lambert glanced back at Jaskier, who hadn’t looked away from the girl. “Is that your child surprise, Geralt?”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt sounded exhausted. “Is he trustworthy, Lambert?”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier and Lambert shared a glance before Lambert relaxed, sheathing his sword. “You’re a fucking idiot, Geralt. He’s more trustworthy than you are, at the moment. Are you sturdy enough to hunt for you and the girl?” Geralt gave a tense nod. “Go, then. She’ll be fine with us until you return.”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt didn’t move. Lambert sighed. “Julian, the silver.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier held his arm out, and Lambert switched blades, pressing it firmly against each of their arms in turn. Geralt grunted, and left.<br/>
<br/>
“Come here, girl. We’ve a campfire, but I suspect you’d prefer a bath first? I can smell you from here.”<br/>
<br/>
She crept close, eyeing them curiously. “Who are you?”<br/>
<br/>
“Did he tell <em> you </em> about his brothers?” Lambert was on edge, both of his own anger and Jaskier’s spiraling fear scent. At the girl’s nod, he continued. “I’m Lambert. If you go wash in the pond I’m sure Julian has a shirt you can wear until your clothes are dry.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier nodded at the task, throwing Lambert his softest blue shirt and the soap to wash the girl’s clothes. He could hear them murmuring, and he kept his back carefully to the pond, building up the fire a little more. He dragged his bedroll to the other side of the fire. He had no idea what Geralt had in his pack, but at the worst, Cirilla could use his bedroll.<br/>
<br/>
It didn’t take long before Lambert returned with damp clothes that he hung on the same big branches he’d set up for their own wash.<br/>
<br/>
He eyed the bedrolls with a raised eyebrow. “Gone shy, Jules?”<br/>
<br/>
He tugged Lambert to sit down beside him, twining their fingers together. “I didn’t see much of a pack, I thought Cirilla could use my bedroll. Unless you don’t want to share.” Lambert was very quiet, but squeezed his hand gently. Only a few minutes later did Ciri creep up, looking carefully at their entwined hands, and then at Jaskier’s face. It was only a moment when her face shifted from curiosity to shock. “Jaskier?”<br/>
<br/>
“Was beginning to think I was unrecognizable, princess.”<br/>
<br/>
She dove for him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, “What’s <em> happened? </em> Look at you, a sword, this lovely vest. Geralt said he didn’t know where you were, were you looking for us too?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, sweet girl. What’s happened?”<br/>
<br/>
“Grandmother’s dead. Cintra fell, wait <em> how do you not know?” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> Lambert and Jaskier exchanged glances, a silent discussion that had Jaskier’s panic smell rising again. Lambert rubbed a thumb over the hand caught in his own. They had avoided nearly every large town for the season. The most they’d heard was rumors, talk of Nilfgaard, but neither of them had made any effort to find out what Geralt had been doing.<br/>
<br/>
“So where are you going, Princess?”<br/>
<br/>
“ <em> Fiona. </em> You can’t trust him. <em> ” </em> Geralt’s growl came rumbling through the woods, his bright eyes reflecting the firelight, visible long before the rest of him was.<br/>
<br/>
Lambert spoke quietly. “Julian put his bedroll out for you, Princess. Go ahead, go curl in the blankets and warm up while your clothes dry.” Then he looked at Geralt, still stalking through the woods. He met the glare with his own unimpressed sneer. “Leave the meat, and go dunk in the pond, wolf. You reek, and you know the girl is safe.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier was hyperventilating now, eyes glassy and he flinched as Geralt tossed down a brace of hares and a small pack as he stalked past. Lambert growled at his retreating form before kneeling in front of Jaskier, cupping his face with his hands. “Five you can see,” he said softly.<br/>
<br/>
Ciri could only just hear them across the small fire, watching the moment of gentleness. She’d seen panic like this before, one of the kitchen girls in the castle had an attack like this anytime a cup or plate was dropped and broken. She tried not to watch, but couldn’t help glancing up, watching the Witcher run a thumb over Jaskier’s lips. “One you can taste, Jules.”<br/>
<br/>
“ <em> You </em> .”<br/>
<br/>
He buried his face in the witcher’s neck. Whatever happened since she’d last seen Jaskier, it had been a lot. One eye was grey now, and when the witcher dragged a blanket around him, he turned his head enough to see the scarring. It was big- nearly bigger than her hand. “Is that why you didn’t come, this winter?” She whispered. Jaskier didn’t seem to have heard her, but Lambert’s golden eyes caught hers, and he nodded. He was efficient, skinning and prepping the meat to roast.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you want to wait up for the rabbit? I can give you something from our packs instead. I think there’s still a fruit tart. I bet Jules will share with you. He threatened me with disemboweling when I made a move for it.”<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t mind?”  Lambert shook his head, pulling a bowl back out of his pack, and filling it with a variety of things, unsure what she’d prefer. It didn’t end up mattering, she ate it all. Geralt stomped back as she was done, finally clean.<br/>
<br/>
“Where’s your armor? And Roach?”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt just grunted. Fucking lovely, there will be not a single answer out of this idiot.<br/>
<br/>
Ciri threw a pinecone, bouncing it off of Geralt’s shoulder. “Stop growling, Geralt, Jaskier is already upset.”</p><p><br/>
The tension snapped, and Geralt shot to his feet. <em> “The fuck?” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> Lambert shifted backwards, so he was crouched in front of Jaskier again. “Sit your big stupid ass down, Geralt.”<br/>
<br/>
“You called him Julian.”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s his <em> name.” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> Jaskier couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry, so he did both, startling a wounded sound from Lambert and Ciri both. Geralt sat heavily. “Jaskier, we looked for you. No one had heard of you. Where’s the lute? Did you lose it?”<br/>
<br/>
“The lute. That’s what you’re focusing on right now, Geralt.” Lambert was unimpressed, busy fingers taking the blade and armor off the bard before pressing him gently to lie down in Lambert’s bedroll.  “Nothing else?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ve been looking for him for months- Cirilla needs tutors. I’m taking her to Vesemir, but Jaskier would be better.”<br/>
<br/>
“You were looking for him because you need him to take care of your child surprise, like he’s been doing for years?”<br/>
<br/>
“What?” Geralt’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.<br/>
<br/>
Ciri spoke up quietly, her voice raspy with sleep. “Jaskier has spent nearly every winter in Cintra. Grandmother hated him, but Grandfather loved him. He would stay and teach me songs, and sometimes tell me stories about you.”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt listened, his view of the bard blocked by Lambert sitting in between them. He had his fingers in the bard’s hair, a tattered flower crown propped on his knee. “So go, we’ll see you there in winter.”<br/>
<br/>
“They’re hunting us, Lambert. They have a bounty out on him, is that why you’ve disguised him?”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert barked a laugh, speaking quietly but refusing to look at Geralt. “Disguised? No. He is himself. You’ve known him longer than I have, Geralt, and you couldn’t recognize him standing before you?”  He paused, before continuing. “Speak softly. They’re both asleep.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nilfgaard is hunting us. They have Fringilla, the Brotherhood, there’s even a doppler that nearly killed her. My armor is gone, my silver sword is gone, Roach is gone. Kaer Morhen is the only place we figured she’d be safe. Portals are trackable, so Yenn is trying to draw them off our trail.”<br/>
<br/>
“If you have the witch, why do you need him?”<br/>
<br/>
“She knows him. Yenn could teach her magic, but little else. Didn’t fucking realize how much easier he made traveling. Where were you two headed? He pay you to take him somewhere?”<br/>
<br/>
“DId he- look. The only reason I’m not beating the shit out of you right now is that little princess smells scared enough. We were supposed to meet Eskel in 5 days in Ellander.”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt was obviously confused, but nods. “Fine. You’ll keep watch? We’ll leave in the morning.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert seethed, but pressed his leg closer to a sleeping Jaskier before settling down to meditate for the night. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Lambert opened his eyes as Geralt stirred, and watched him ready for the day. Lambert moved slowly, setting a pot of oats for breakfast, before rethinking that and doubling the batch. He could restock in Ellander. He sliced up the last of the fresh strawberries, dropping them in and feeding the tops to the drowsy horse, who had curled up at the end of his tie line in what used to be a healthy patch of wildflowers. </p><p> </p><p>Ciri rose next, suddenly shy in Jaskier’s big shirt. Lambert brought over her clothes and turned his back so she could dress. The oats were nearly done, so Lambert dug out the bowls and gave her one. He ate a bowl quickly, before filling it again, setting it down near Jaskier, before gently shaking the bard. “Jules. Get up, before he comes back.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier groaned, stretching. “Jules. Wake up.”<br/>
<br/>
Lambert hefted him upright. “What should we do?”<br/>
<br/>
“We?”<br/>
<br/>
“He wants you to go with him. I don’t think he cares what I do, but Eskel will be waiting for us.  He’s not going to wait, much less go to a festival with Ciri.”<br/>
<br/>
“Do I-”<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt stalked out of the woods across the clearing, and Lambert squeezed Jaskier’s hand before standing. “You can’t wait for Eskel? The trip would be safer with backup.”<br/>
<br/>
“Three witchers will just draw more attention. Jaskier, if you don’t have the lute, how are you earning coin? I’m sure we can get you another, you can be useful again.”<br/>
<br/>
The effect was instantaneous, Lambert dove across the camp, snarling. For all his rage, Geralt had the reach and superior strength and had the younger man pinned almost faster than Ciri and Jaskier could scramble to separate them. Jaskier bullied Lambert back by their pack, but Lambert refused to let go of his waist so he could get supplies to clean his blackened eye and scrapes on his face. Geralt wasn’t much better, his nose bloodied and a bruise blossoming on his cheek.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt really wasn’t sure what the issue was, but he watched his brother be bullied into being cleaned up by the bard. Jaskier could be very bossy- he remembered the bard making a fuss over his own scrapes that would have healed fine overnight. His hair was far longer, and was dressed in simpler clothes. Dark trousers, a pale pink shirt that had small white flowers embroidered on it. A leather vest, with delicate tooling, with straps and buckles. The small pretty sword he had on his belt yesterday was set aside with a long, thin staff.<br/>
<br/>
“Ciri, I’m fine. Gather your things, we need to go.”<br/>
<br/>
“But isn’t Jaskier coming? You promised we’d find him and bring him, we can’t leave him behind. Everyone I leave behind dies. ” For all her strength, Ciri started sobbing. The bard was the last person from home that she knew was still alive, and she didn’t want him out of her sight.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt watched the two men behind her stiffen, and Lambert slumped. He could hear them both, but wasn’t sure if he was glad of it.<br/>
<br/>
“Jules. He might be right. She might need you. Gods above, he’s fucking useless with people. He could keep her alive to get to Vesemir, but would she be broken?”<br/>
<br/>
A bright blue eye peeking out from Jaskier’s new, long fringe watched him. Of course Jaskier would remember he could hear them. “She’s strong, though.”<br/>
<br/>
“Will you forgive me, if I begged you not to go? Would you forgive yourself if you didn’t go?”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier’s silence was enough. Lambert tipped his head back, and went to dig in the saddle bags. He dumped them out, digging out a smaller pack and his potions bag. He repacked most of his clothing in the smaller bag, stuffing his potions bag on top. He paused, pulling out two Swallow potions. He repacked everything else back in the saddlebags. Jaskier’s winter clothes, the tent, waving at Jaskier to bring him the bedrolls. He took his whetstone and sword cleaning kit, packing them in a side of the small pack, tucking bombs in every corner. He dug out their heavy coin purse, digging through it, taking a handful out and dumping it in his potion bag. He tucked the bag back in the saddle bags where it was.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you have a bedroll?” He glared at Geralt, who shook his head. He packed both bedrolls in the saddle bags as well. By this point Geralt had clued in, and started cleaning the dishes. Lambert dug out a small blue book, tucking it in a pocket before saddling the horse. Geralt handed him the dishes, which he traded for the potions. Geralt tucked them into the small potion bag on his belt. Lambert shoved the dishes in the saddlebags before handing them to Geralt to affix to the saddle. Ciri could help but stare, as Lambert fussed over Jaskier, fixing the scabbard to his waist and hanging the stick over his shoulder. Finally, he tucked the ragged flower crown on his head. Jaskier was still frozen, clearly not sure if he should argue, or if it’d be worth it. </p><p><br/>
Geralt led the horse over, packing away the tie lines and at Lambert’s wave, lifted Ciri up into the saddle. Lambert took the small book, and pressed it into Jaskier’s hands. “Meant it to be a gift, at the festival.” He murmured, refusing to look up. “I’ll fetch Eskel. You’ll be faster on the horse, you know he can handle you and the princess. Go, and we’ll follow. As fast as we can, we’ll follow you. Travel fast. Be careful.” He glanced up into Jaskier’s eyes. He caught the bard’s face in both hands, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He pushed him over to the horse, guiding him up behind Ciri. He glared at Geralt, who had watched the entire exchange in silence, before disappearing into the woods with his pack, headed for Ellander.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Running</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lambert needed to get to Ellander, and fast. Eskel was supposed to be coming from the north, but there was too much room for error. He couldn’t try to hunt him down. He had 5 days until the festival, 5 days they were supposed to be riding, and laughing and camping. He’d meant to take them a long circle around, arriving a few days early to set up a good campsite so they didn’t have to stay in the city. He hadn't even had the chance to buy Jaskier the quill and ink for the little book yet. <br/>
<br/>
Now he just needed to run. It made sense to do it this way. It was logical. Geralt was faster, and stronger than him. He could go faster with the horse, and Julian would help keep Ciri safe. Fuck, he still was shit at backhand parry and they hadn’t managed to start dual wielding yet.<br/>
<br/>
So he ran. He ran, slowing only to ease the burn on his legs before running again. He didn’t stop until the moon was high, throwing his pack against a tree, and sitting down next to it. He was sweaty and tired and he sat down, rummaging for some of the rations he’d kept. He had sent most of the supplies with them. He chewed angrily. Julian had better be asleep in a bedroll right now. They only had two, though. He wondered if Geralt would make his bard sleep on the ground, or if Ciri would share. She was young, but old enough it might make her uncomfortable to share.<br/>
<br/>
He shrugged his swords off beside him, laid down with the bag pillowing his head and did his best to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>-------<br/>
<br/>
Geralt walked silently ahead of them, having found walking next to the plow horse frustrating for his slowness. Ciri was quiet for a few hours, before turning and looking up at Jaskier. He smiled at her, softly.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you sad that he didn’t come with us?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, yes. We’ve been traveling for a long time together. He’s a very dear friend.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Geralt scoffs, but says nothing. The silence was too heavy, and Jaskier wasn’t willing to ask Geralt what part of his reply was unbelievable. Ciri eventually asked, even quieter as if it could stop Geralt from hearing, “Did he make that flower crown for you? Is that why you keep it, even though it’s a bit… ragged?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, darling girl. He didn’t make it for me, but it was a gift he insisted I keep.” Jaskier smiled softly, “Would you like to hear the story?”<br/>
<br/>
“Is it a good one?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I think so.”<br/>
<br/>
“You think that of all your tales, Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier frowned, but decided to ignore the grouchy witcher and continue on. “Well, Lambert and I came to a town on our way to Ellander. We’d been traveling for days, and the merchant begged Lambert to save their town from the demon plaguing them.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier went on, describing all the mischief and trickery the little Godling girl had gotten up to. Ciri was delighted to hear of the goats on the inn roof, the laundry hung from trees. Cooling pies that disappeared, loosened fastenings on tools. Plants even dug up and reburied upside down. The horses all set loose, and the cow one man found inside his house when he woke up. Jaskier told her all of the merry mischief, and the young girl was laughing.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, Jaskier leaned forward and whispered, “But Lambert, he said he knew what the problem was. He insisted I be the one to complete the contract! The audacity of that feral badger man.”<br/>
<br/>
Ciri was appalled. “But how can you fight a demon?! You’ve a staff and a sword? Is it even silver?”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you even know how to use either, bard?”<br/>
<br/>
Ciri glared at him. “Why wouldn’t he? You wouldn’t let me carry a sword until I trained. Doesn’t him carrying it mean Lambert’s trained him?”<br/>
<br/>
“If so, my brother is foolish, the bard is better suited to music.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s smile was forced, his eyes tight, and when Ciri glanced back at him she could see the hurt. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. Please tell me how you defeated the demon.”<br/>
<br/>
Ignoring Geralt’s snort, Jaskier told her of singing, and singing. And of the small Godling child that appeared. He described the tiny creature, who trusted Lambert because they trusted Jaskier, and gave him the crown and a kiss for a song.<br/>
<br/>
“So it just left?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes. Sometimes kindness is far more effective than a sword or a staff.”<br/>
<br/>
Ciri was silent for a long while. “Sometimes it isn’t, though.”<br/>
<br/>
“It takes wisdom to know the difference.” Jaskier brushed his fingers through her hair, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s difficult, for even the oldest of us.”<br/>
<br/>
“And that’s how you know it’s all fucking made up. Lambert’s not <em> wise. </em> He’d as soon toss a bomb at the creature and call it a day."<br/>
<br/>
“Geralt, I know you’ve known him for a very long time. But when was the last time you actually walked the Path with him? ”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t pretend you know him better than I because you’ve traveled with him a few months. I watched him grow up. Where were you two headed after Ellander? Or was he handing you off to Eskel?” Jaskier sighed, but refused to fight, feeling Ciri tense in front of him.<br/>
<br/>
They traveled on quietly, Ciri eventually falling asleep. Jaskier just held her gently, and hummed songs softly in her hair. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to get to Kaer Morhen. He’d seen Lambert leave most of the coin with him, but it would probably be spent on food and rations. Even before, Geralt wasn’t terribly fond of inns unless there was ale involved. He watched the tall, silent form in front of him, and just hoped that Lambert would catch up quickly.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Ciri didn’t sleep long, but the rumbling of her stomach was loud enough that even the big horse’s ears flicked back at the noise. “Geralt,” Jaskier called, “do you know any good clearings around here?”<br/>
<br/>
“We’re not stopping yet.”<br/>
<br/>
The harshness of his tone startled him. “Is there someone following us?” He turned to look, before cursing, and turning the other way to look over his right shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
It was Ciri who spoke up. “We don’t stop until the moon is rising, he wants to put as much distance as we can. We haven’t seen soldiers in a week, though, so we’re making good time I think?”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier pulled the horse to a halt, and looked around. There was a promising gap in the trees up to the right, so he headed off in that direction, leaving the witcher behind. Ciri hummed at the long, oddly shaped clearing they eventually found when Geralt crashed through the brush, fuming. “I said we’re not stopping yet.”<br/>
<br/>
“ <em> You </em> don’t have to. But she’s hungry and tired, and I have the supplies and the horse. So <em> we </em> are stopping. You’re free to stalk on, if you like. They’re looking for a witcher and a girl, not a-”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s not your decision, bard.”<br/>
<br/>
"I'm <em>not </em>a bard anymore, Geralt." <br/>
<br/>
"Because you lost the lute?" <br/>
<br/>
Jaskier knew he was trembling, he knew he smelled of fear and anger, but the girl was hungry and if it got any darker he would be stumbling around as he tried to manage camp. The dark made depth perception much more difficult. So he just pulled the saddlebags down and handed them to Ciri. He untacked and went to tie out the horse as Geralt just stood there fuming, but the witcher snatched the reins from his hands and walked off with him.<br/>
<br/>
Ciri had built a small fire, and was busily attempting to use a flint she’d found in the bag, without much success. When Geralt returned, he wordlessly cast a small igni and tossed two hares by the fire. He tied the horse out, who apparently wasn’t only taken for a drink but allowed to roll in whatever stream Geralt had found. So Jaskier just settled down to cook, preparing a stew to stretch their supplies.<br/>
<br/>
He was careful, and Ciri watched him as he tilted his head to chop vegetables, using the knuckle of his off hand to track the knife. He used both hands for most everything, as she watched. Even just to stir the pot, he had a second stick he’d drag up and press against the side. Geralt wasn’t even watching any of this, just off cleaning and oiling a sword Ciri knew very well was perfectly fine. So she watched carefully, and told herself to remember to always sit at his right. They ate in silence, and when he was done Geralt laid down on one of the bedrolls and fell asleep, his back to them. Ciri just sighed, watching him.<br/>
<br/>
“I haven’t seen him this… upset.”<br/>
<br/>
“I suspect that’s my fault, princess.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yours? But he missed you. He said you made travel easier, that people were kinder and wouldn’t chase him away. And you are sad, now. You don’t smile as much. I saw you smile with Lambert, though.” </p><p>Jaskier thought carefully, wishing he could tell by listening if Geralt was actually awake or asleep, to tell from a smell or a heartbeat what someone was feeling. But he couldn’t.<br/>
<br/>
“Darling, people change, things change. I suspect Geralt is just afraid of who is chasing you. He’s only one man, after all. The last time I saw Geralt was well over a year ago, and it was a bad day for both of us. Don’t worry about me, though. We’ll get you safe and I’ll teach you everything I know. And I know quite a lot. Master of all seven liberal arts in Oxenfurt, and while I generally don’t bother with it, my parents did enforce a strict knowledge of courtly etiquette for when I am expected take over as Earl.”<br/>
<br/>
“Wait, Earl? You’re titled?”<br/>
<br/>
“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, at your service. Though for many years I preferred to go by Jaskier the Bard. It was a good life, songs and adventure and travel.”</p><p>“I haven’t much enjoyed adventure and travel.” Ciri made a face. “Lambert called you Julian. Would you prefer I do, as well? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’ve only ever known me as Jaskier, though, a silly bard who wintered at your court.”<br/>
<br/>
“So?”<br/>
<br/>
Julian smiled. “As you wish, little one. Go lay down, get some rest.”<br/>
<br/>
“Where will you sleep? We don’t have another bedroll. Would you lay down with me? Sometimes I get nightmares, I think it’d be nice to have someone to hug.”<br/>
<br/>
So Jaskier allowed himself to be badgered onto the bedroll with an imperious glare, poked and prodded until Ciri could curl herself into his side, her small head resting on his arm, He held the little one close, watching the stars and hoping Lambert was not running himself into the ground.<br/>
<br/>
-----------------------------</p><p>Geralt rose with the sun, feeling rested after far too long without sleep. A twinge of guilt hit him when he saw Jaskier and Ciri curled up together. He’d taken what he’d thought was Lambert’s bedroll, assuming that Ciri would curl up beside him like she had been doing since he found her at that farm. But instead, she curled up with Jaskier. Jaskier, who had apparently been spending winters with her while he stayed at Kaer Morhen. <br/>
<br/>
The bard looked older, now, with a beard. If the new clothes and hair weren’t a disguise, why was he going by a different name?<br/>
<br/>
He hadn’t seen Lambert that protective of anyone since Volthere, and even then, they were just boys. He’d heard of the Cat Lambert spent so much time with, but hadn't yet met him. He knew they were in a relationship, which bothered him. Jaskier had always been tactile, but he'd never touched him as much as he touched Lambert. And Lambert. Lambert begging him to stay. Lambert kissing his forehead. Lambert gave him nearly all the supplies. Had it been him alone, he would have been surprised if Lambert even gave him half of what he had. Jaskier was right. He hadn’t seen Lambert on the Path for nearly 80 years.  Had he changed that much? Winter he was always grouchy and sullen, drinking and building up potions for the path. One year he even spent nearly the entire winter putting together a beautiful set of sleeveless armor. His stitches weren't even, but both he and Eskel were secretly jealous of it. They assumed it was for the Cat, as it was far too small for Lambert. It was too narrow in the shoulders for him, and a little too long. Whoever it was was lean, and tall. <br/>
<br/>
He let his mind wander as he went through his forms, and was halfway through when he saw Jaskier nearly done putting oats on to cook, heading off to the other end of the clearing with his long staff, the ridiculous flower crown back on his head. Geralt paused, watching the bard move. He heavily favored his left side, and when he finished one pass and turned to come back.  He completely ignored Geralt’s stare, making another full pass before Ciri stirred. He was clearly familiar with the staff, and he recognized the loose swagger of Lambert’s influence between each pose.<br/>
<br/>
“You favor your left.”<br/>
<br/>
Jaskier raised his eyebrow, swinging the stick up and on his shoulder. “I know. Oats should be done by now, if you’re hungry. I made enough for you, too.” He settled down next to a bleary eyed Ciri, handing her a bowl before taking one of his own, leaving one more out for Geralt. Once she was awake, she leaned on his shoulder. “I’m tired, Julian.”<br/>
<br/>
“You can nap on the horse, sweetling. You’ve been running a long while, it’s catching up with you.”<br/>
<br/>
Geralt flinched at the name change. He ate quickly, readying the big horse. It was a big beast, better fitted to a farm than a witcher’s mount. He pushed Ciri up once she was ready, as Jaskier tied the saddlebags on. Geralt reached out, intending on a friendly grip on Jaskier’s shoulder. The bard was still upset with him, rightfully so. He no longer knew where he stood, Jaskier was the same but so different. But as his hand landed on his shoulder, the bard reacted, his arm went up and around Geralt’s, twisting him down into a painful hold.  His wrist was trapped in the bard’s armpit, his left arm pressing his arm in and up. His elbow bent up setting him off balance and looking up into an angry glare. He could get out, but not without possibly dislocating his own shoulder or seriously hurting the bard. He relaxed into it deliberately, not resisting the strong grip. “Jaskier?”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t.”</p><p>Geralt raised his left hand in surrender, eyebrows raised. “I just wanted to say I was sorry.”<br/>
<br/>
“Now is not the time, Geralt. And don’t do that again.” Geralt furrowed his brow. He wasn't allowed to touch the bard? Jaskier had always been tactile. Was he so angry at him? He let Lambert touch him, even shared his bedroll when they were short one. He curled around Ciri to sleep, and doted on her in the saddle. But if the bard didn't want him to touch, he could respect that. So he nodded, and Jaskier released him, still angry and breathing fast. He swung himself into the saddle, and urged the horse away without looking back. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Temper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lambert woke up before the sun, and for one moment he forgot Julian wasn’t there. In the summer heat, while camping, they usually didn’t end up waking up as entangled as they had in the little cottage on the beach. But still, opening his eyes to a campsite that didn’t smell of Jaskier, no fire, no bedrolls. It left an ache. He dug out a handful of dried nuts and fruit, eating them slowly. Another day of running, but it wasn’t in the direction he wanted to go in. He stood, shaking his legs out. His swords, his pack, and he ran. He ran until he couldn’t, a long, loping gait, as straight a path to Ellander as he could make it. He climbed hills, jumped over small streams. He ran sweaty and tired and his legs shaking. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He dropped to his knees at the muddy bank of a pond, splashing water on his face, and drinking. Geralt wasn’t cruel, just thoughtless, he had no reason to be this desperate to get back to Jaskier. Everything is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>everything would continue to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So he hauled himself up, and forced himself to a jog. No running. Jaskier would laugh at him, bully him to a walk. He is capable and strong. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He ran, until he slept. Then he got up and ran again. He did his best not to think while running, but he was winded, sweaty and tired when he reached Ellander early the third day. He had no tent, no bedroll. He stunk of sweat and hadn’t eaten. He scoured the town, but Eskel hadn’t arrived yet. The townsfolk gave him a wide berth, until one small girl came up to him. “Ma said you kill monsters. Are there monsters here?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert was startled, but eyed her carefully. “No, no monsters. Waiting for someone.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Me too. Can I wait with you?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you’re quiet.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So she climbed up on the fence nearby, and they waited. It was only about an hour before a harried woman came rushing around the corner. She snatched the child up. “Aya! What did I tell you about wandering off?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She turned to Lambert, who tensed, but her eyes softened. “You look bedraggled, Witcher. Do you need a meal? You certainly need a bath. Come along, you watched my errant little fairy child, it’s the least I can do.” </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He’s waiting for someone, Ma.” Lambert nodded. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“A friend. Another witcher. We’re to meet here, but need to leave right away.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is Nilfgaard so close?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He glanced at the little one. “Not that I’ve seen.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert let himself be dragged along to a farmhouse, where she washed his clothes and bullied him into a bath and a meal. “Rest and eat- I’ve sent my older boys along to bring any Witchers here while you rest.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eskel could arrive any moment. But a moment of kindness was rare, and he stood, uncertain. Finally he caved, and stalked to the room she’d offered him. “I’ll knock if my boys hear of your friend. Rest as long as you need, Witcher.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He woke to see the moon bright, the house quiet and still. His pack was where he’d left it, the clothes she’d taken to wash clean were folded on top. He packed his things away and considered the small family. There were four rabbit-fast heartbeats of children,  but only one steady thump that was likely the mother. So he left his bag, and headed out into the woods. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, and before he packed up to leave he left two braces of hares gutted and cleaned on the table, and a gutted deer hanging from the slaughter hook in the barn. Daylight was only a few hours away, the meat wouldn’t be waiting long. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So Lambert took off to the road out of town, intent on catching sight of Eskel at the first possible moment. He waited until the sun was high, and headed back into town. The market was packed, the chatter and excitement as they prepared the midsummer celebrations. Flowers were everywhere, and a bonfire was being built in the huge grass field east of town. Julian would have loved this. He would have dragged him to every vendor, just to look at the wares. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dug out his coin, picking it from in between all of his potion bottles where he’d carelessly thrown it days ago and bought as much food as he could fit in the bag. Carrots, cured meats. Lentil and dried beans, and the quill and ink he meant to buy here the whole time. He tucked those in the bottom of his bag, protected in the small box they came in. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>None of this preparation helped him stay calm in his wait for Eskel, however. So instead of pacing up and down the road he decided the tavern was the next best bet. Food, and he could nurse an ale for hours before he went back to his post. The town was full of revelry, and the sound of the music outside made him ache. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He was a little bit drunk when he stumbled out of the tavern. He walked to the northern entrance of the town, and dropped down to meditate beside a big tree on the side of the road until dawn. Tomorrow was Midsummer, the town was packed, banners flew. Eskel should already be here. But he wasn’t. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>----------------------------</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ciri did her best to stay quiet as long as she could. Geralt had upset Jaskier, and she wasn’t quite sure why. If they were friends for so long, surely Jaskier could trust him where he couldn’t see him? Next time Geralt went to hunt she resolved to ask. There’s no way she’d get a straight answer while they were together. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So instead, she turned in the saddle, making a point to turn to her right, so Jaskier could more easily see her whole face. “Julian. I must know, why have you not named your horse?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh. It’s not actually my horse. I mean, I suppose it is now, had him for a year and a half. But. Look, it’s a big story. I’ll give you the smallest of it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I wouldn’t mind the whole story, Julian. I like your stories.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I know, sweetpea, but this one.” Jaskier looked off into the distance, before sighing and looking back. “This one doesn’t feel quite right to tell without Lambert. It’s his, too.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Alright. The small bit, then, and the rest when your boyfriend comes back.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier flushed bright red. “Ah. You’re not the first to make that mistake.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’re not? You slept together. He-” Jaskier heard branches snapping and a curse behind him. He didn’t look, but he’s fairly sure Geralt must have stumbled.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s- that’s quite enough, darling, yes, I know. But your wording. Is a bit excessive. We shared a bedroll, you were using mine, that’s all” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“But-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ciri, leave off. Lambert’s practically married to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cat</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier stiffened, drawing the horse to a stop, He slid down from the horse, unhooking his stick to trail the ground. When he was most angry he didn’t mind his left like he should and right now was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the moment to fall down.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He was shaking with rage, or with fear of confronting Geralt, he wasn’t sure. But Ciri watched with wide eyes as Jaskier strode towards the befuddled witcher. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>“You will never use that tone of voice again about that.” </span>
  </em>
  <span> Blue eye blazing, Jaskier radiated an anger that Geralt had only seen him display a few times before. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’d defend a Cat witcher you’ve never met? They’re unstable, they’re assassins!” Geralt waved his hands, “The Cats attacked-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Geralt you are not listening to me right now.” Jaskier’s voice was low, the roll of anger made Geralt step back. This was not a familiar anger to him. Not off his bard. “If you ever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever, </span>
  </em>
  <span>speak with that tone about Aiden, especially where Lambert can hear, I will tear you apart with my bare hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do not test me.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>Fuck. How much time did he spend with Lambert? The bard’s gone totally feral. He swallowed only then realizing that his medallion was slightly vibrating. “Jaskier?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Go. Get out of my sight. Go hunt something for dinner. But I do not want to see you right now.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m not leaving Ciri undefended!” Geralt roared, finally done with being pushed back by the small, feral man in front of him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The swift crack startled Ciri, the staff caught inches from Geralt’s face with his left hand. With narrowed eyes, Geralt released it. He drew a silver dagger from his belt, and held it out. Jaskier rolled his eyes and bared an arm. Satisfied with no reaction to the silver, Geralt stalked off into the woods, walking past Ciri, headed north.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier stood, breathing heavily for a long while until suddenly his knees gave out and Ciri scrambled from the horse with a small cry. She threw herself in front of him. Lambert, what did he do. “Five! Julian, what are five things you can see?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She pressed her hands against his cheeks, pushing the hair back from his eyes. His eyes were glassy and the blue one wasn’t focusing at all. “Five, Julian” He shuddered a deep breath. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Horse. Trees. Clouds. Trail. Flowers?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Four you can touch.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He cast about, a little desperately. “Dirt? My stick. Your hands. Your hair.” He flicked the short edges of her hair and she snorted.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on. Julian. Three. Three was smell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“The horse. Ugh, whatever that awful pollen plant is. Can I say the horse again?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Only because you’re joking. Two was hear”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, technically three was hear. But birds, and you. Thank you, Ciri.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You have to do the last one, taste.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No one likes the taste of their own tears. Come on. Thank you.” They clambered back up on the horse, shifting his sword and staff, which had gotten tangled in the collapse. He wrapped himself around the teenager, squeezing her in thanks until she laughed and batted him off. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Now is probably not the time, but why </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you afraid of Geralt? I thought you were just angry at him. But I’ve never seen someone panic over anger.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I guess now would be the only time you could ask. Did he tell you about the last time he saw me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He said it was far north, at a dragon hunt that went wrong. He said things he regretted to you and Yennefer, but he needed you both to help me. Yennefer helped him find me, but had to leave. So we were going to Kaer Morhen.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s close enough to the truth I’ll leave it. Look, I’m feeling rather frazzled, what do you say we make this big horse run awhile?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m going to name it.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Pick a good name, princess. He’s more Lambert’s horse than mine, he’s the one who stole him. Let’s go.”  He wrapped an arm around her waist, and nudged the horse hard with his heels. He flicked the reins back over his rump to urge him into a lazy, rolling canter. He pushed and pushed, keeping the big horse in his lazy lope going north until the trail got too dense for the speed and they let him walk. He snorted and tossed his head, complaining. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They could see a river up ahead, cutting through the trees on the mountains that rose to their right. They tapered off, and the distance they could see the northern mountain ranges. The shadows were starting to lengthen, so they took off the trail and headed closer to the mountains to find a clearing to sleep in. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They had the campsite set up, a fire going and the horse picketed near a tiny stream by the time Geralt strode in, eyes blazing. He said nothing, but untied the collection of pheasants he brought and sat to work silently prepping them. Jaskier had already cooked up a small pot of lentils, and it sat near the fire, keeping warm. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They stopped early enough that after they ate, Geralt waved Ciri up. She groaned, but they moved to the end of the clearing. Geralt didn’t move as slowly as Lambert did when they were training, but still slow enough to track. Ciri was clearly comfortable with her blade, but still slower and smaller. It was clear that Geralt was the one teaching her, her moves fast and brutal for a young girl. She looked like a tiny copy of Geralt. Jaskier wondered if he looked as much a mirror of Lambert’s movements when they sparred. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt, however, could not get out of his head. He’d somehow angered Jaskier over insulting Lambert’s boyfriend. He’d thought it was Jaskier’s bullheaded insistence on defending Witchers, he’d clearly won Lambert’s affection. Maybe it was a loyalty to his brother? But what loyalty could override the twenty years they’d walked together? Jaskier had to have known the staff wouldn’t connect, but the point was made. He wasn’t totally helpless. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When he heard the big horse canter past, he’d cursed. The damned beast had spooked the deer he’d been hunting, so not only would he have to run to catch up with them, but find a new meal for Ciri. By the time he caught up he wasn’t winded, but angry nonetheless. The bard had found a very nice clearing, even though they were yet again stopping very early in the day. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Not for the first time this week did he wish Yenn would have portaled them instead of disappearing with vague mentions of other responsibilities. The third time he pulled what would’ve been a direct blow to Ciri, he waved her off. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No use exhausting yourself. You’re getting better.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ciri just grumbled at him, but left to curl up on the bedroll. Her head was in Jaskier’s lap, and he brushed her hair gently. “Sing to me, Julian. Please? One of the songs from before.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m not much of a bard anymore, Ciri. What would you like?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sing that one Eist always asked you for.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Better not be that Fishmonger one. It’d be better if he stayed quiet, there’s no wenches to impress or drunken idiots flinging coins at him here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri, for her part, burst into tears. Geralt was flabbergasted- they were less than an hour's ride from the Ismena River, and the valley between the northern and southern mountain ranges were always rife with bandits. She’d been more emotionally unstable since finding Jaskier. If he did spend winters in Cintra, it was probably just homesickness. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He waited until she slept, before speaking. “Don’t run off with her again.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He expected the temper to flare again. The anger in that one blue eye he could see, the other hidden by a long fringe. What he didn’t expect was the sigh of defeat. “That big plow horse could never outpace you, Geralt. We weren’t running away. Just. Needed to run.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The bard sighed and brushed his fingers through Ciri’s short blonde hair. “She’s just a girl, Geralt. You need to slow down. You’re sparring with her like she’s a witcher. Have you taught her to escape holds?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you actually going to tell me you know better what skills she needs to survive?” Geralt was surprised. The bard was always fine when they separated, but he was a grown man and a seasoned traveller, not a child raised in a fine house with servants and titles to keep her safe. </span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier just watched him, though, before shucking off the pale vest, and tiny blade. He left them neatly by that damn stick that never left his side or his hand.  On top of the vest was that horrifying flower crown. He watched the bard turn his back, and curl up next to Ciri, who yet again was choosing Jaskier over him. Choosing the bard that relied on her grandmother’s hospitality rather than the father Destiny decided she needed. It was all too insulting. He laid down again on Lambert’s bedroll, irritated that it still smelled like Jaskier. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Eskel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I never do summaries. Should I?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dawn came and went. The noise of the festival was deafening when all Lambert wanted to hear was the heavy clopping of Eskel’s stallion. He stalked around the perimeter of the town, waiting, watching, watching. The bonfire was lit as the sun went down, and the singing echoed in the woods. <br/><br/>Eskel was not here. Lambert was suddenly terribly glad that Julian wasn’t, either. He’d be beside himself with worry. Eskel was not late. Eskel was never late. He was nearly always the first one to the keep in winter. Usually the last to leave, except last winter because of Julian- they’d all been so worried about his balance headed down the mountain. <br/><br/>Lambert sat on the edge of the clearing, watching the festivities. Would Julian have sang? Maybe he would have danced, if Lambert took him. He was still the most confident on tricky footing when Lambert held his hand. He watched a young couple spin each other around the circle, laughing before the young woman plopped her flower crown on her dance partner’s head. He dove down, catching her in a kiss before they spun away. <br/><br/>He cursed, getting up and stalking back to the north of town again. He paced, and waited, and paced, and waited. He watched the celebrations slowly disperse, and had to walk carefully through the forest to avoid interrupting any particularly <em> festive </em> celebrations. The woods stank of lust and sex and it was grating on his nerves. He heard at least four couplings, and was annoyed. There were perfectly good beds in the town. <br/><br/>Two more days Lambert waited. He was climbing the rooftops by the end, watching and waiting. He was sitting at the top of the barn, much to the delight of little Aya. The little girl has decided that Lambert was her new favorite person, following him throughout the town. He wasn't sure why, and did his best not to snap at her. It wasn't her fault Eskel wasn't here yet. Then he saw it- the big black horse, with a heavy red coat just at the edge of his vision. </p><p> </p><p>He slid down the roof, jumping off the edge, hitting the ground and rolling before picking up his pack and swords and bolting down the road as Aya screamed about the witcher falling off the roof. He ran down the road, at full speed, intent on reaching Eskel as fast as possible. <br/><br/>Scorpion saw him coming from a distance, pricking up his ears. He tossed his head, the big horse recognizing him. He didn’t stop running until he crashed into Scorpion’s shoulder, Eskel’s weak smile not reassuring at all. He shoved Eskel’s foot out of the stirrup, swinging up behind his brother. Eskel was much taller than he was and broader, so it wasn’t easy, but he wrapped an arm around his waist, gripping the edge of his armor to keep him steady. Eskel groaned, and Lambert kicked the horse hard, goading him into a run. <br/><br/>Where else could he go? He went back to the farmhouse, Aya screaming again as she saw him returning. Her mother came out, drying her hands. She peered, hand up to block the rising sun before dashing back inside. Scorpion was running fast, but when he pulled up in front of the house and dismounted, he had blood on his hands and his heart was beating nearly as fast as Julian’s. She burst back out the door, apron on and hair tied back. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I-” <br/><br/>“What are you doing, Witcher? Get him down, the table’s been cleared. Aya! I told you to fetch your brothers, now. Unless you aren’t big enough to help your new friend?” That raised eyebrow would have made Vesemir proud. He pulled Eskel down when a tall young man came running up the path. <br/><br/>Lambert slid Eskel down carefully, balancing him across his shoulders. He was so much bigger, broader and overall heavier that Lambert had to heave him up, one arm and leg tucked over his shoulders to keep Eskel situated. He could carry him this way, but it was awkward. “You big fucking beast I hate you and your stupid spiky armor.” Lambert grumbled, and he followed the woman, pointing to her small gaggle of children, all scattering. <br/><br/>“Witcher, does the horse bite?” <br/><br/>“No, Eskel trains em to be sweet.” He grunted, twisting to the side to get his brother though the door. Eskel was already so wide his shoulders sometimes brushed the sides walking in taverns, but he did his best to not jostle his brother. <br/><br/>“Arni! Stable the horse. Bring his saddle bags in! Get your brother to bring water in!” <br/><br/>Lambert managed to twist and sit Eskel on the table, and started shucking off his armor, dropping it beside his feet. Small hands appeared, dragging things away. “Leave the armor, Betyn, but you may wash the rest. Witcher, is your … friend? Shy? If not, strip him all the way down, best know for certain we got every injury. I’ll get a towel for his privacy.” <br/><br/>It had been three days without much sleep. Lambert was <em> tired </em> and now Eskel was here, and hurt. His brother sat in front of him, clearly doing his best to stay in the haze that meditation granted, numbing his pain. Pants first, then shirt. “If I lift him, can you slide his pants down? He’s fucking heavy.” <br/><br/>She raised an eyebrow. “Look, you clearly have at least six kids. You’ve seen a dick. I’ll wash him myself, I’m just getting very close to my limits here.” <br/><br/>Nodding tersely, she waited as Lambert unlaced his breeches, untucking his shirt and pulling it forward. Winters sharing a hot springs didn’t leave them with a lot of modesty, but Eskel was notoriously large. He’d be embarrassed if she was made uncomfortable. So he took off his own armor, hanging it on a chair before tucking a shoulder underneath Eskel’s, and using his legs to lift his brother, one hand tugging his shirt down in front. <br/><br/>She was quick, averting her eyes as she dragged Eskel’s trousers and smallclothes down to his thighs, standing and turning her back holding a towel out.  He took the towel and laid it over his hips. “He’s decent.” <br/><br/>She was at his feet in a flash, taking off one boot, and then the other, tugging his pants down only to expose another long, deep slice on his thigh. She tossed the clothes towards her children. “Brenna, boots on the porch, thank you.” <br/><br/>“I’m going to move him again, if you need to look away.” Lambert lifted his brother again, sitting him farther back on the table, tucking the towel tight under his legs to hold it still. <br/><br/></p><p>“Wait, let me get the shirt.” She pushed him out of the way. “Sit down, Witcher.” <br/><br/>“Lambert.” <br/><br/>Just then, two tall boys stumbled in, both carrying buckets of water. “The bags were all crushed on one side, Master Witcher. We left them on the porch.” <br/><br/>“Fill the bath, boys, then take the littles to your gran’s. One of you stay and help with supper, the other come back, we might need help.” <br/><br/>She pulled and twisted the shirt off, and Lambert realized the boy was trying to light the fireplace. He leveraged himself up. “Hey, kid.”  He stumbled to the fireplace, and cast a small igni, before heading out to the porch to check Eskel’s bags. The boy didn’t lie. Of course it was his potion bag that was crushed- Scorpion must have fallen on it- the whetstone was cracked, two daggers were bent badly. Every potion bottle and every component was a loss, and so was the small amount of food he’d kept in that side of the bag. He carefully pulled the potion bag out, and turned the saddle bag over, shaking out residual glass shards and crumbs into the mess. He hung the bag on a chair to dry out, and took the potion bag farther out on the small dirt path before incinerating it with an igni. No use worrying the children would touch it. <br/><br/>“Lambert!” The older boy was peering out. “Ma needs you to lay him down.” <br/><br/>He came in to find Eskel’s back washed and stitched. She was washing her hands, and he nodded. “You do very neat work.” <br/><br/>“That one on his stomach was deep. I’m not sure what organs it cut. That would’ve been fatal on anyone else.” <br/><br/>Lambert slid his arm under Eskel’s knees, turning him on the table before laying him down. Eskel wasn’t quite conscious, but wasn’t fully meditating either. And this gut wound was bad, bleeding sluggishly. “Going to Somne you. It’s never as soft as yours, I’m sorry. I refuse to practice though, so if you bitch at me later, I’m going to punch you.” Frowning, Lambert cast the sign, Eskel relaxing. <br/><br/>“Why didn’t you do that earlier?” She had her hands on her hips, glaring. <br/><br/>“Because I hate to, and because he was meditating. He heals just as fast that way. But now, when you’re done, he can sleep for the night.” <br/><br/>“And you will sleep for the night.” <br/><br/>Lambert flinched, but her angry glare made him nod. A bowl was pushed into his hands by her son, who kissed his mother’s cheek and headed back out the front door. “You have a nice family.” <br/><br/>“Thank you. Now, you eat, then you’ll help me stitch the big one.” <br/><br/>The stew was good, and Lambert inhaled it before digging through his own potion bag for a swallow and tucking it in a pocket. He’d need more, there was only one more left. He washed his hands, and took over the stitching. She was too afraid of hurting him to pull forward the ragged edges of the big slice, but she had dug down deep, pulling out every stray fiber and washed the wounds thoroughly. With her help they poured the swallow down Eskel’s throat slowly, Lambert holding his head up as she rubbed his throat gently to encourage swallowing. <br/><br/>Afterwards, she sat to mend Eskel’s now damp clothing as Lambert took his time bathing his brother gently, taking the blanket she offered to cover him when he was done. Lambert was swaying on his feet when she coaxed him to the same bedroom he used last time. “He’ll be fine on the table for a night, I’ll tuck a pillow under his head. We’ve watched you waiting for him. Let us help, now.”  Lambert slept, deep and hard, the past week of fear and stress  overtaking him. </p><p> </p><p>It took another full day before Eskel woke up. Lambert slept all through the first day after Eskels arrival and all that night, but woke up well before dawn. He slipped out into the woods again, coming back with four rabbits. He cleaned them out in the woods, and got back just as Eskel was starting to stir.<br/><br/>“Eskel!” Lambert dropped the hares by the fireplace, and hurried over to help him sit up. <br/><br/>“Lambert? I’m late, I’m sorry. Where’s Jaskier?” <br/><br/>“We ran into Geralt.” <br/><br/>Eskel flinched, and winced at the movement. Lambert’s eyes were wide and bright. “Where is Jaskier, Lambert?” Eskel asked again, soft and gentle. <br/><br/>Lambert looked away, breathing hard and fast, his brow furrowed. “As soon as you can, we need to go. They have over a week’s lead on us now.” Lambert’s fists were clenched, and he was pacing the small room. <br/><br/>“Shhh, you’ll wake them, talk to me little wolf. What happened?” <br/><br/>“He has her. The one we thought he wouldn’t? Jules was right, where he went. And he went with him. For her.” Lambert sank into a chair, and dropped his head on crossed arms by Eskel’s leg. “I begged him not to go, Eskel.” <br/><br/>Eskel just dug his fingers into his hair, scratching gently. “Shh, little wolf. I hear one waking. Just stay here, I’ll talk.” <br/><br/>Long minutes passed as Lambert wrestled himself back under control as Marta came out, tying up her hair. “Ah, You’re awake. Lambert has said you are Eskel. Are you hungry, dear? Oh, your friend is so sweet. He’s been in town for days. My littlest is quite taken with him, tries to follow him everywhere.” She walked close, and placed a soft hand on Lambert’s back, feeling him tense and lean away. She stood quietly until he relaxed, and smiled. “He’s helped build our stores greatly. I keep finding fresh meat, and he showed my boys a berry patch he found on his rounds watching for you yesterday. He’s very kind.” <br/><br/>Eskel ran his fingers through Lambert’s hair again, smiling down at him before saying quietly. “He’s my little brother. And yes. He’s very kind. Thank you for helping him. We are on our way to help another, I just ran into a little trouble on my way here. We’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow. Please don’t worry. The potions he gave me and your stitching helped greatly. Is there anything else you could use for your stores? Lambert needs to run off more energy. And I think we need to buy another horse before we leave.” <br/><br/>“More meat- especially furs we can use this winter would be wonderful. The rabbits will be especially useful for the children, the furs are soft and warm.” <br/><br/>“Go on, Lambert. Bring me my clothes and go. I’ll sort out a horse.” <br/><br/>“I- “ <br/><br/>“Go, Lambert.” </p><p> </p><p>-------------------<br/><br/>Eskel stood, feeling bare without his armor. Arni, Marta’s oldest son, was sent with him to buy a horse. Eskel stood, arm’s crossed, as the boy haggled with the blacksmith. Marta convinced him the boy was the best, and so far, he’s right. Scorpion threw a shoe in their fall, but thankfully wasn’t injured. The boy had the blacksmith down to half of what Eskel usually paid, and they left Scorpion in his care. </p><p> </p><p>The next stop was the father of Arni’s girlfriend. He bred horses, and often sold them during festivals. Arni went in, and Eskel waited outside, listening as the young man inquired about the horse and tack Lambert would need. <br/><br/>Scorpion was a big stallion, but had nothing on the sheer size and bulk of the huge draft horse that Lambert had acquired. The beast considered hauling around the men an easy day, but Eskel still wondered why they hadn’t sold it, or gotten two smaller horses instead. He had an idea, but he wondered if either one of the two idiots knew. Probably not. <br/><br/>Arni soon came back out, a tall blonde man following him. “Eskel, well met. I’m Pabian. Arni says you’re in need of a horse?” <br/><br/>“Surefooted and smart are the most important. Swift and calm are bonuses.” <br/><br/>“I suppose a Witcher wouldn’t much worry over color and personality, would you?” <br/><br/>“Not really, no. My big stallion’s the sweetest I’ve ever had. My brother is currently on the nastiest, but she’s loyal and clever. We need capable, and have the time and patience to train out most problems.” <br/><br/>“I have one, she’s fast and smart, but bullheaded on the trail. She’ll need a strong hand on her.” <br/><br/>“Well, let’s see.” <br/><br/>The horse in question was a tall mare with long legs. He watched Arni walk her, studying her gait. She was bright eyed, sound, with a deep barrel chest and as wide a rump as Scorpion. She was a beautiful Mahogany bay, with a dainty nose, and slightly curved tips of her ears. Jaskier would <em> adore </em> her. <br/><br/>“What’s her name?” Eskel tipped his head. It’d be worth it, even if he spent every coin he had, to get Lambert back to Jaskier faster. <br/><br/>“Thistle.” <br/><br/>Eskel considered. “Let me saddle and ride her, if she’s solid, I’ll take her.” <br/><br/>“Saddle her yourself, if you don’t mind. I’m not keen to get bit this morning.” <br/><br/>Eskel had her saddled without complaint, his big hands quicker than her nips. He calmly blocked her every attempt, swinging up and riding her around the big clearing behind the stables. He ran her, spun her. She was clever, changing lead seamlessly at a canter and tucked under for a smooth stop. He waved at Arni, their agreed signal to buy the horse. The boy nearly floated home, riding Scorpion from the blacksmith. Eskel gave the boy a small handful of coin for his effort that he tried to decline. Eskel argued that without his help he would have easily paid double what he had for a reshoeing, horse and tack. <br/><br/>He let the boy stable the horses, and went to hunt down Lambert in the forest. He had fourteen rabbits, and was cleaning them all when Eskel walked up. <br/><br/>“All we need is more trail rations, dried food, and we’re good to go. Are you calmer now?” <br/><br/>Lambert nodded, “I did buy some, but I’m on foot, couldn’t carry much.” <br/><br/>“Finish up, I’m going to the market. The less we have to stop the better. What else are you traveling without?” <br/><br/>“I took my potion bag, some of my clothes, little bit of food. Handful of coin but I spent it on food and Julian’s gift.” <br/><br/>“No bedroll or tent? What about your medical shit?” <br/><br/>Lambert glared at him mulishly. “I can do without. And you have camping stuff. Jules needed it more.” <br/><br/>Eskel buried his face in his hands. “Okay. No. That makes sense, who the fuck knows what he needs, Geralt’s left him behind before. I’m going to get the rest of what we need. Finish up, pack your shit. We leave at dawn.” <br/><br/>That night they thanked Marta and her children, hugging each of them. Lambert even gave little Aya a small wolf he carved out of wood. He glared at Eskel’s soft smile at the exchange, but Eskel said nothing. When all the bags were packed, Eskel climbed into the spare bed with Lambert. Together they were slightly too broad to share such a small bed. But Lambert pressed his back to Eskel’s, and they slept until just before dawn. </p><p>
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  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Cirilla</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier woke up to Ciri shivering slightly. He frowned, looking around. Geralt was gone, with the horse. “Ciri, darling. Wake up.”<br/><br/>“I’m awake, Julian.” <br/><br/>“What’s wrong, dear.” Jaskier fussed, digging out some fruits and hard bread, handing half over to her. <br/><br/>She flushed, brightly. “I’m fine.” <br/><br/>“ <em> Cirilla </em> . I don’t mean to press or make you uncomfortable, but if you need <em> supplies </em> I’m sure I have something. We have to be near a town, with the river right here.” <br/><br/>“You’re not embarrassed?” <br/><br/>Jaskier leveled a flat look at her. “Calanthe was a practical woman. I’m assuming you are knowledgeable about your body and what, exactly, it means?” Ciri nodded, blushing even brighter. “Excuse an old man, my dear, but even men have reason to understand and accommodate the bodies of the women around them. If at <em> minimum </em> to prevent pregnancy, and at best to make life easier on the women they love. And I have loved men, and women, and those who consider themselves in between. Now. Eat up.”  Jaskier dug through the bag, looking for his oldest shirt, but found himself pulling out one of Lambert’s. It didn’t smell like him anymore, so Jaskier just folded it and put it back before pulling out his oldest shirt, faded and soft. He cut off both sleeves, folding and sewing them as Ciri watched carefully. <br/><br/>Geralt returned as he was quietly working, soaking and shirtless, his armor and shirt laid across the horse’s broad back. “Not ready to go yet?” The bard was busy sewing, and they both were eating. Well. He had time before his shirt dried, so he prodded the campfire back up, casting a small igni when the wood wouldn’t light. He hung his shirt nearby and went to brush and saddle the big horse. <br/><br/>“Geralt,” Jaskier called, “do you have any willow bark?” He shook his head, and the bard held up an empty box. “Would you please go fetch some? I’m all out, and rather need some.” The big witcher held his hand out, taking the box. “Fill it all the way, please? Thank you.” He raised an eyebrow, “We leave when I get back.” <br/><br/>“Yes, of course, thank you.” Jaskier waved him off, packing up his things back in the bag, pulling out a roll of bandages. <br/><br/>They waited until Geralt was out of sight, and Jaskier tucked what he’d made in her hands. “Look, not as good as what we’d sew for my sisters but it’ll do. Wrap it like this in some bandages before using it, cleaner for you. Do you know how to wash them? Go now if you need to use one, I’ll clean everything here.” Ciri slipped into the woods headed for the stream, only reappearing just as Jaskier had nearly everything packed. <br/><br/>“Drink the tea, sweetling. Anything need washing or did we catch it early enough?” <br/><br/>“I’m okay. Though I’d really appreciate new clothes if you shop in a town soon.” <br/><br/>“Trousers or another dress?” Seeing her nose wrinkle at the mention of a dress he nodded. “Right. Are your boots good, or do you need new ones?” <br/><br/>“Geralt already got me new ones, we just lost most of our pack at a campsite we had to run from in the middle of the night.” <br/><br/>Geralt appeared moments later, looking far more grumpy than usual, and handed Jaskier the box, which he tucked inside the saddlebags before handing them up to Geralt to tie to the saddle. “Finish up Ciri, let’s go.” He swung up onto the horse, holding his arm out to her. <br/><br/>“I’m going to walk a bit today, Geralt.” <br/><br/>“It’s safer for you on the horse.” <br/><br/>“It’s safer for Julian on the horse, too, but I’m guessing you’re still mad that we ran a bit. You shouldn’t be. It was fun.” <br/><br/>Geralt just frowned at both of them, and nudged the horse down the path. “There’s a town in an hour’s walk.” <br/><br/>Ciri and Jaskier just looked at each other, Jaskier held out his left hand. “Oh. I’m honored.” <br/><br/>“Better for us both, darling. Let’s go.” <br/><br/>------------------------------------ <br/><br/>On foot, the one hour took two, but soon they were on a small hill, looking down at a town next to the river they’d seen at the campsite. Jaskier dug the heavy coin pouch and an old shoulder bag out of the saddle bag. He picked out a handful  of coins and tucked the purse in an inside pocket of his armor. The rest he slipped in a pocket up on his chest. “Anything else you think of, Ciri? Geralt?” <br/><br/>“Where are you going, Jaskier? We don’t have time for shopping.” <br/><br/>“No, <em> you </em> don't have time for shopping. Ciri is nearly a grown woman, and while I love hugging my darling girl, she deserves her own space. We need another bedroll, we need food, and a few other things. You cannot shop. You definitely cannot shop together.” <br/><br/>“Actually, I’d like to go with you, Julian.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt growled.  “It’s not safe for you-” <br/><br/>“Geralt. I’ll keep her safe. Besides, at least this way I know you won’t leave me behind.” <br/><br/>Geralt and Ciri’s eyes both went wide as Jaskier walked away, He swung his stick off his shoulder and around, trailing it along his left, disappearing into the woods. Ciri glanced at Geralt again. “Meet us around the other side of town, across the river. It’ll look more believable that we’re just passing through, ok?” Geralt just nodded, turning the big horse and plodding away. <br/><br/>He thought back to the times he’d left Jaskier in towns. He’d left him at healer’s before. Humans took forever to heal, and he knew Jaskier would find him again. And he never knew how long Jaskier would fall into someone’s bed. He spent months with that countess. He said he’d had an ongoing winter appointment, which was apparently Cintra. Jaskier was fully capable of taking care of himself, so why would he be upset if Geralt got a contract that took him in a different direction?  He shook his head. He should’ve left them to ride, but he was so worried when they’d taken off running. Jaskier was right, this big horse was not fast, he could keep up even at a gallop. Fuck. Something else he needed to apologize for. <br/><br/></p><p>-------------------------</p><p><br/>Ciri caught up with Jaskier halfway down the hill. She saw a cluster of men watching them at the bridge, so she bounded up to his left, cheerily calling,  “Wait up for me, Dad!” <br/><br/>To his credit, Jaskier didn’t startle, but turned and looked up. “Come along little sparrow. I’ll buy you a pie at the market.” <br/><br/>“Not mince. Those are terrible.” <br/><br/>As they neared the bridge, he nudged her shoulder. “Mince are the best. You’re just like your mother was. She loved strawberry the most, you know.” <br/><br/>“Daaaaaaaaaaaaad you’ve told me a million times. Pies before boots, you promised. Let’s go!” <br/><br/>Ciri turned around, bouncing in front of Jaskier, using her affected glee to ensure they weren’t being followed. As they rounded the corner he tugged her close under his right arm. “You’re a clever girl. Learn that traveling with our friend?” <br/><br/>“No. I was on my own for a few months.” <br/><br/></p><p>Jaskier tugged her close, and pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Not again, dear one. Not if I can help it.”<br/><br/>“Would he really leave you behind?” Ciri spoke quietly, still tucked in close. <br/><br/>His face was still pressed in her hair, and he stopped walking. “I mean. He has before. I don’t think he’d do that now, not wanting me to tutor you. Besides, Lambert should be on his way. Even if he did, I wouldn’t be alone long. Though hopefully he’ll catch up with us soon.” <br/><br/>“He won’t leave you, because he needs you for me? That’s not <em> fair.” </em> Ciri hissed. <br/><br/>“Be calm, sweet. It’s alright. He won’t. Let’s get our things, ok? Do you want me to shop with you for clothes? Or would you rather do that alone?” <br/><br/>Ciri did her best but was still fuming. They filled the small sack with two changes of clothes for her, thick and sturdy trousers, shirts and even new smallclothes. Jaskier added a vest and a hat if she wanted to disguise her femininity. He managed to purchase three better sewn pads from an amused older woman, who offered an oilcloth bag to carry them in. She petted Ciri’s hair, doting on her that she had such a sweet father until Jaskier managed to drag her away from the woman. After filling the rest of the bag with more dried legumes, oats, and root vegetables, they found a bedroll. Ciri carried it, walking behind Jaskier as he navigated the market easily, his stick tapping a rhythm to his left. </p><p><br/>When they found a section with pies and other baked goods, Jaskier poured the little pile of coppers that was left into her hands. “Go on, sparrow. Remember to get some good things that will last as well.” <br/><br/>She took off, flitting from stall to stall, and he leaned on the staff to watch her. After one round to inspect, she went back through, filling a small sack she got from one vendor full of treats and bread. “Thank you, Dad.” Ciri chirped, pressing a kiss to his right cheek. “Time to go? <br/><br/>“On we go, sparrow. Are you ok with both of those?” <br/><br/>Ciri nodded, half a roll stuffed in her mouth, eyes crinkling.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Leap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Did you deliberately buy the prettiest goddamn horse he had?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, Lambert. I said I needed the prettiest pony for my baby brother.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They tacked up the horses, setting off as the sun was barely light. Thistle tossed her head, prancing about the trail. Lambert had to keep her firm in hand, but for all of her dancing, she was beautifully responsive to both hand and leg. Scorpion’s placid walk soon calmed her down, and they walked side by side, with Thistle occasionally nudging and nipping at the big stallion, who mostly ignored her. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Took her long enough to calm. Gonna tell me what happened now?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I pretty much did. Geralt dropped into our campsite with the girl. On foot. He lost Roach, he had no supplies. He wanted Julian to tutor her, but the jackass didn’t even recognize him. I didn’t want him to go. But he’s more family to her than Geralt is. Remember him talking about spending winters? So I left them the horse, the camping shit. I doubt Geralt even had a tent, I gave him some of my Swallow stash just in case. Julian told me to wait for you, and follow them home, so you wouldn’t think anything happened to us.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And I was late.” Lambert just hummed. “Nilfgaard had soldiers looking for Geralt in Vizima. I hid out for a few days, trying to skip town without them noticing. A patrol in the woods must have caught sight of me, they chased us for ages. Scorpion lost his footing heading too fast down a steep hill. Threw me, and I had to fight my way out. Only six of them, but you know how it is.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“How much of the forest did you burn down, you fucking dragon?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Only half, did you hear the screaming villagers?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Be serious, dumbass. How long were you riding like that?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just a day. I didn’t have any Swallow left after Scorpion fell, and didn’t want to risk stopping.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, What were you doing in Vizima anyway?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Needed a present for Jaskier.” Lambert looked away. He thought of the little blue book he’d bought for Julian, and wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have done that. Eskel was kind, he’d be good to Julian. He considered the possibility, as they rode on quiet. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“How fast do you think they were going?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’ve seen the way that horse ambles along. As soon as that gash on your gut is solid, if we run what we can we’ll catch up.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“If you let Thistle have her head I won’t see you until Kaer Morhen.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m not leaving you behind, especially if Nilfgaard is this far north and looking for Witchers. Do you think they’re patrolling the Pontar, too? </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s possible. Where do you usually cross?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah. I don’t usually come up through Kaedwen. I take the northern pass that lets out in Aedd Gynvael. Don’t give me that look, it’s tradition.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They traveled for two more days at a maddening walk, Lambert both boiling in rage that they couldn’t run and terrified to tear Eskel’s newly healed scars. It was deep and nasty when he saw it, after a full day of healing. Eskel had traveled to them, instead of going to ground. He probably didn’t want to worry them, either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The third day they crossed the Ismena river at a wide, shallow crossing at the base of the mountains. They spent the afternoon there, stripping down and washing themselves and their clothes in the water. Eskel started a fire and put fish on to roast as Lambert watered and rubbed down the horses. They’d finally pulled out Eskel’s stitches, and as long as they went easy, he should be fine. There was  one Swallow left, but neither of them wanted to wait to brew more. It was a gamble, but neither complained. Once all the clothes were dry and repacked, Eskel stared up at the mountain. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Which way do we go, Lambert? If we go fast and hard, we risk missing them if they run into trouble. We could draw even more attention to them if people notice we’re in a hurry.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Are you suggesting we track them? We can’t go asking around in town for them. ‘Excuse me, ma’am have you seen the continent’s most wanted witcher and the crown princess? They’ll be traveling with a half blind bard, please and thank you’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’d have better luck asking about him, I’d think.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Doubt it. He was only just starting to sing again.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That’s not the only thing that makes him memorable, Lambert.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck off.” Gods, did he know that. He thought of the alderman’s son in Cidaris, barmaids in every tavern they went in. The healer with the bright red hair. The glow of sunrise in his hair over the ocean.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What do we do, Eskel?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we don’t want to draw attention to them, I think we have to head home like normal.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You want to walk.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And hunt.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert stomped around the clearing, kicking rocks. He fisted his hands in his hair and bent double, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>screamed. </span>
  </em>
  <span> Eskel watched him, before drawing his steel blade. He flicked the smallest Aard at Lambert, knocking him off his feet. He drew up, snarling. Eskel tipped the end of his blade in a small circle before Lambert lunged, drawing steel. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel was bigger, broader, with longer reach and far more power behind his blows, but Lambert was fast. He used his smaller stature to his advantage, twisting out of Eskels reach, teeth bared. The swords flashed the bright afternoon sun, parrying and dodging in turn until Lambert dripped with sweat, chest heaving. Eskel sheathed his sword, and Lambert hissed, leaning in to lunge again when Eskel leveled him with an Aard that sent his sword flying into the deep grass.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert thumped his head on the ground a few times. “Better?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Go wash again, you’re going to stink soon.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>He did, though. He sulked, washing tersely, watching the sun slowly move across the sky as they made not a single step in the direction of Kaer Morhen. They were a day out from Bialy Most, which often had drowner contracts, and always paid well. Tomorrow would be two weeks since he’d left the bard- they should be in Kaedwen by now. Geralt had a tendency to push hard when riding, and he would only be limited by the frankly impressive endurance of the big plow horse. That is, if he left the humans to ride like Lambert intended him to. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t until dark, Lambert and Eskel laying side by side and watching the stars come out before Lambert spoke again. “You’re right, I think. I don’t like it. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But you’re right.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel said nothing. Tomorrow, if they rode hard, they could walk into Bialy Most. They could head up into Redania, and double back to throw off any gossip. He plotted. Lambert usually went up through Redania. It was an option, the country already familiar with him. But it would completely remove any possibility of catching up. As it was, they would have to avoid Ard Carraigh, as they’re familiar in the town and anyone would recognize all three wolf witchers heading home early as different and noteworthy. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Fuck. Geralt was only thinking of Ciri, and he doubted he’d take any advice from Jaskier. So they had to assume they’d travel the easiest and fastest way. He tipped his head, watching Lambert. “He’ll be ok.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Eskel.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>----------------------</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up spending only one night in Bialy Most, a single contract for a drowner nest  that was handled with two well tossed bombs. It had only been four, but the violence of the explosion was so fulfilling that Eskel pointed out one that had survived. Neither one drew a sword, watching as the mist settled. Eskel held out his hand, and gestured Lambert forward. He kicked a few rocks in the water, before picking up a large hunk of one skull to use as proof. He wandered back, and Eskel lobbed the second bomb in, grinning as it landed well in the center. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh you </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lambert dragged them both back a moment before that bomb exploded, viscera splattering everywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You might be onto something with those.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m never giving you one again, the whole idea is that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> get covered in monster bits.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel’s grin was bright, even in the face of Lambert’s unimpressed stare. He snorted, but the irrepressible grin on his brother’s face soon had them both laughing, covered in monster bits, mud, and river water. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The next morning, they headed out separately. Tucked in the corner of the tavern the night before, Eskel had quietly brought up the idea of making it look like they were separating. Eskel would head east slowly, and Lambert west. Thistle was faster, so he would curve back around through the woods to catch up- the worst case scenario they’d wait for each other in Hagge. Eskel had brought up the possibility of taking Lambert’s usual way home, but was shut down. The possibility that Geralt gets himself into trouble was too high to risk. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel’s ride out was slow and lazy, the road mostly deserted heading east. He let Scorpion walk, head loose and low, settled back on his hips into the saddle. He watched the treeline, knowing it was too soon for Lambert to have caught up, but his own poor luck in Vizima kept him on edge. His nerves were why he noticed the sound.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard the clatter of armor long before he saw them, but it was still a close call slipping into the forest to remain unseen. The luck was that Scorpion was black, making disappearing into the shadows that much faster. Eskel dismounted, creeping close to the road after Scorpion was hidden away. It was a pair of armored scouts, similar to the ones who caught him in Vizima. Nilfgaard was getting braver, soldiers so far north and they weren’t even being stealthy. Eskel cursed. Bandits were enough of a nuisance, but avoiding the roads was going to slow them down even more. Once they passed, he rode on through the woods, following alongside the road. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert had less luck. He pushed Thistle into a canter out of town. The road was busy but clear enough for him to run, and soon enough he rounded the bend bringing him out of sight of the town. He veered south, taking to the forest. The road to Murivel was frustratingly busy, so he continued walking on until the road was no longer visible. The forest was too thick for a run here, but he let Thistle have her head into a fast trot. She was nimble enough that there was little danger of tripping, so Lambert just stood in the stirrups, absorbing the bouncing rhythm in the tension of his knees. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He heard the campsite just as he crested the small hill that hid it from view. They’d found a well hidden spot, a valley that opened between two of the smallest of the foothills still drawing down from the Mahakam mountain range. In that small crescent was a group of twelve Nilfgaardian scouts. There was half a minute where he wondered if they’d just let him pass before one drew his sword. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Take him alive.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>“Nope, no thank you, goodbye.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was dangerous, but so were the crossbows they were holding. He dropped down and gave Thistle her head with a swift kick. She dropped back on her haunches and took off. Branches snatched at him, whipping them both as they ran, and Lambert did his best to guide her back toward the road. He wasn’t even sure if he’d made it back past the town yet. He knew Hagge was a two day ride, but if he got back to the road and a clear path, he could catch up with Eskel. He couldn’t beat this many scouts on his own without taking serious damage. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Finally, he could see the road ahead, but he was coming up fast on a felled tree. It was stupid and dangerous, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t jump over unknown shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> but as he considered pulling up to go around it a crossbow bolt thudded in the tree to his left.  Lambert shifted his weight lower, pulling Thistle in tight, “If you can’t make this, you’ll kill us both.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She was either the best trained horse he’d ever ridden, or was just a natural jumper. Lambert didn’t know, didn’t care, but thanked every single one of the gods he could remember as she launched them up and over. He gave her her head as she landed lightly, his weight shifted too far forward but quickly corrected. The crash and scream of a horse behind him made it clear at least one of his pursuers did not make the jump. He ducked down, branches slashing at his face as they exploded out onto the road again. Thistle spooked the horses of a merchant wagon and crashed into another rider before they managed to take off east. </span>
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  <span>Thistle’s ears were flat, still willing and eager to run, and Lambert had to fight her to keep the bit from out of her teeth. He fought her down to a walk, but she threw her head, aggressive and pulling at the bit. They’d run far and fast, but the road was no longer safe. He considered the left versus the right side of the road. Hagge Castle was on the southern bank of the Pontar. The current here was still too fast and the river too wide for the horses to safely swim but the trees were denser. So, the left it was. He waited for a break in the brush, and guided Thistle through. He was far more careful this time. An experienced tracker could still follow, but there were still four horses that were in that campsite that were likely on his trail now. He needed to find Eskel, and there’s no way they could head north until they dealt with these soldiers.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Snap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier dug out the new hat, twisting up and tucking Ciri’s hair in it. “You look so darling! This will be wonderful to keep the sun out of your eyes as we walk.”<br/><br/>Ciri submitted to the attention, brows furrowed as she watched Jaskier watch over her shoulder. “Are we going to keep shopping, Dad? Or did we get everything now?” <br/><br/>“It’s up to you, darling. Come along, we’ve enough from here. I want to look at those cloak clasps again, mine is rather wobbly. Help me pick a nice one.” Jaskier tucked her hand in his right hand, dropping his stick forward to tap along their way with a delicacy he hadn’t needed for nearly a year. Ciri’s hand trembled in his own and he guided her down and up another road headed towards the town’s inn. He pulled her along behind the inn, chattering the whole walk about how lovely the midsummer decorations were, and how fun the festival will be tomorrow. Once inside the stable, he whipped the bag around, shoving her in the tack room. “Change, quickly, out of the dress.” <br/><br/>He watched the entrance, listening for footsteps. The road wasn’t busy but he wasn’t sure if they’d attracted the attention of the four Nilfgardian scouts just riding in from the east. He could hear the clothes shuffling as Ciri rearranged herself, the slight cursing before she tapped on the door. He peeked in, her dark linen trousers tucked into her boots, a sturdy but plain linen shirt half tucked in the laziest fashion with the heavy dark vest concealing the majority of her more feminine frame. Jaskier thanked every god that she was small chested, she pulled off the look of a rakish teen boy easily, if her face was a little too delicate and pretty. He fussed with her hat, tilting it ever so slightly before readjusting the pack, tying the bedroll to the top. </p><p> </p><p>"Help me fix my hair?" She nodded. He brushed his hair back, and Ciri gasped. She'd seen the pale grey of his eye  and the edge of the scars but the firelight already. But that night Lambert's hand had blocked her view of most of the damage. She put the heel of her palm on his cheekbone and slipped her fingers in his hair. She could almost cover the entire scar. Almost. He glared at her despairing frown, but it held no heat. Now wasn’t the time.<br/><br/>Soon her deft fingers pushed his out of the way, arranging his hair to better show his scars. It was messy, tucked up under one ear before she waved him off and dashed back into the tack room. Wincing in apology to whoever's saddle it was, she undid the lark's head knot on a long leather strap with a quick tug. Now he had a headband that pulled his hair out of his face to better effect. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier heard footsteps approaching, their time was up. "You, my son, have been an excellent help today, but your old man is tired. So let's go to our camp. Feel free to run on ahead if I am too slow. I won't mind, I know I am slower than a young man's legs. Lets go, you're a good lad." His eyebrow was raised, and her face displayed a horror she did not, and could not, speak.</p><p> </p><p>She took his arm, making a greater show of helping him along than they both actually needed. They passed by the inn’s stableboy, who ignored them. The walk out of town was stressful, walking through the streets of the town heading north, weaving through the crowds excited by the impending festival. They passed by another four scouts, these all on foot. They shuffled out of their way, nodding at Jaskier, eyes drawn to his face, then skating away, embarrassed. Most people did, when they saw his face. It wasn’t until they’d made it past those four, and the two more posted at the bridge out of the village did they start to relax.  <br/><br/>They followed the road out of town, and as it intersected into a wide trail that ran parallel to the river he pulled them eastwards. Only when they were out of sight of the scouts did he stop. He ripped the headband off his head, shuddering. He pushed it at her, and she took it, stuffing it in a pocket of her vest. <br/><br/>“Julian, can I hug you right now?” <br/><br/>“Anytime, dear heart.” <br/><br/>She wrapped her arms around him and they just rocked for a few moments. “We need to move, we’ve been a long time.” She plucked at his hair, arranging it back the way he liked it before kissing his cheek. “Which way do we go?” <br/><br/>“Into the woods, darling. We’ll just walk north until we find a good spot to camp.” <br/><br/>They walked north together and as the sun started to set they both got more and more nervous. Finally they reached a small clearing at the base of a hill- likely the beginnings of the foothills. Jaskier unrolled the bedroll, and they sat together. The night would be warm enough without a fire, and they didn’t have a flint anyway. He dug into the bag that Ciri had purchased, handing her a small meat pie. “Eat up, then lie down. We’re too close to the town, especially with midsummer. I’ll keep watch.” <br/><br/>Ciri laid down, Jaskier sitting on the bedroll by her stomach. She curled around him with a fist in the back of his shirt. “What if he doesn’t come?” <br/><br/>“Then we’ll figure it out. I know a way to get there.” <br/><br/>“Without a horse?” <br/><br/>Jaskier fingered the heavy coin pouch in his pocket. There was plenty there to get a cheap horse and a few supplies. He hadn’t truly trusted Geralt not to leave him behind until Ciri decided to tag along. Now he worried he’d gotten caught up with the scouts. If they found Geralt here, would they know to look in Kaedwen? The vague location of the schools wasn’t a secret. Jaskier looked at the sky. If Geralt wasn’t back by morning, they’d go up through Redania. The pass Lambert showed him would leave them far enough north that even Nilfgaard shouldn’t catch them. If they managed to get that far north. <br/><br/></p><p>The moon was high when he heard movement in the forest. He rolled forward into a crouch, debating on if he should draw the sword with so little practice. He hadn’t even done his forms with his staff - Geralt’s comment making him self conscious. Lambert had deliberately trained him to focus on his weaker side, and now though his balance is far better he still relies on the staff. <br/><br/>He picked the staff up using it to gently prod Ciri awake before taking off his belt and tossing her the sword. In a flash she was crouched behind him, back to back, the small sword looking far more deadly in her hands than it ever did in his. <br/><br/>Three figures glided out of the shadows, all armed. “Look boys, I told you they would be alone.” Jaskier didn’t recognize them, but the leader was a tall, cocksure woman, with a bow slung over her shoulder and a dagger at her waist. The shorter, rounder companion had a heavy sack and nasty grin to go with his club. By far the deadliest looking was a slender, delicate looking man with a long, thin, wicked looking sword. <br/><br/>“Fuck.” <br/><br/>“You offering? Awful pretty boy you have there.” <br/><br/>Jaskier was on his feet, and spun the staff to the first defensive pose Vesemir showed him. Three wasn’t good, he wouldn’t be able to block the club and watch the leader, if Ciri could even hold off the sword. “You need to leave. Now.” <br/><br/>The man with the club lunged, nowhere near as fast as Lambert, and Jaskier managed to only just crack the edge of his staff on the man’s wrist. Not nearly hard enough, the man raged and leaped to attack. The clash of steel told him Ciri was fending off her own attacker.</p><p> </p><p>The club wielder, who Jaskier decided to call 'Ugly', lunged again, but barely missed, Jaskier dancing out of the way as he fell flat on his front. Without hesitation, Jaskier took advantage of the moment and swung the staff down harder than he'd ever dared to swing, even in sparring with Lambert, straight across the back of the big man's head. He didn't know if the loud, sickening crack was his staff or the man's skull but either way- he didn't get back up. </p><p>The crash of swordplay had moved around behind him, and he glanced over his right shoulder to see Ciri viciously attacking the man, just as the leader snatched him off his feet, a fist in the back of his hair. A dagger was pressed to his throat, at the same time as an angry scream left Ciri and the unmistakable sound of rending flesh. Fuck, he couldn't look. He didn't dare, his chest tightening at the mere thought of Ciri injured. </p><p>His attacker didn't leave him much choice, with a swift shake of the fist in his hair. "Girl, you'll pay for that mistake. Drop the sword or I gut your Father." </p><p>Ciri's face was a vicious smile, Jaskier searched her for injury but aside from a blackened eye, he couldn't be sure what blood was hers. "I'm not the one who made a mistake." He could hear the scoff of the bandit behind him before a low rumble behind him made his knees weak with relief.</p><p>"He's not her father." </p><p>Geralt didn't even bother with pleasantries, driving his steel sword up through their ribs, Jaskier stumbling away as he was released. On his hands and knees he breathed heavily, listening to Geralt rifle through the bandit's belongings. He emptied out the heavy pack, scoffing at what little he found. Geralt was tossing Ciri little pouches to stick in their own small bag before Jaskier bothered to reach for his stick. When he put his weight on it to stand, the wood splintered, sending him tumbling. "Fuck." </p><p>Geralt rolled his eyes. "Broke your staff? Why do you even carry a sword if you can't use it? Depending on a teenage girl to watch your back?" </p><p>Jaskier flushed brightly. He knew very well without Ciri, he would've had no chance. "She had no other weapon, should I have left her unarmed?" </p><p>Geralt just raised an eyebrow as he was checking on Ciri's face. "Geralt, stop. He took down the big guy. It's not his fault, that bitch attacked from his left. Leave him alone!" She shoved his hands off, helping Jaskier to stand. The last foot of the staff had snapped off, leaving a jagged edge. Jaskier ran a finger over it. Lambert worked so long that day, carving and balancing it, the memory of his intense focus, shirtless and shining in the bright sunshine in the foothills so far north of here. </p><p>Great. He spun it, the staff unbalanced and wrong in his hands. He hung it back over his shoulder anyway. "Why are you keeping it if you can't use it?" Geralt frowned, watching Ciri hand the sword back to Jaskier. "It'd be better if you wore that, you know." </p><p>"I'm not taking his sword, Geralt, stop it. Where's Egg?" </p><p>"Egg?" Both men stared at her.</p><p>"I told you I was naming the horse. His name is now Egg, and you will like it." Jaskier nodded. She had a point, and after a year and a half the poor thing probably did deserve a name. </p><p>"The horse is tied off in a clearing." Geralt waved. "We need to move. I can burn the bodies but it'll attract attention, even with the bonfire." </p><p>Ciri slid her hand into Jaskier's left, and they watched as Geralt piled the bodies, shoving what little firewood he could find between them before casting Igni. Once they caught, he strode away through the forest. Ciri followed doing her best to guide Jaskier, who stumbled along in the darkness. </p><p>They reached a dozing Egg, and Geralt pushed Ciri up on the horse and offered his hand to Jaskier to help him up after. He gave him a curious look, but climbed up himself. Once he was settled Geralt grumbled, "Don't let her fall." </p><p>He took the reins and stalked off, leading the horse into the forest. "Geralt, which way are we going?" </p><p>“North, for now. Too many scouts along the Pontar, I found 20 total. Managed to pick off a few waiting for you.” <br/><br/>“How many is ‘a few’, Geralt?” <br/><br/>“Eight. The scouts. Be quiet, she’s asleep.” <br/><br/>They walked until the moon was high, Jaskier exhausted and doing his best to hold Ciri upright. More than once he jerked awake after tilting slightly, but jerked hard when Geralt was suddenly at his side, holding his arm. Jaskier looked around, woozy. Geralt had found a tight cluster of pine trees, barely large enough to call a clearing. He was dizzy looking down into Geralt’s unreadable expression. “Let go of Ciri, Jaskier.” <br/><br/>He’d already laid out the bedroll they bought from town, and he easily lifted Ciri and laid her down. As he was arranging her, Jaskier attempted to get down to set up his own bedroll, but his hand strength failed him and he collapsed. <br/><br/></p><p>Geralt growled at him, yanking the saddlebags off the horse. “That’s what you get for being impatient.” He rolled out the bedrolls, and untacked the horse quickly. He led the horse away, and Jaskier just clumsily crawled towards the nearest bedroll. Lambert’s, he thought muzzily, the torn corner where Egg had tried to eat it. Sleep hit him hard and fast, he didn’t even hear Geralt come back. <br/><br/>Geralt was not sure at all that they were far enough away, but he couldn’t drag them further. Just as Jaskier fell asleep, he stumbled into a perfect clearing. It was tiny, oddly shaped with just enough room for them to spread out the bedrolls surrounded by heavy pine trees. A long, oddly shaped slope facing north was good enough to picket Egg. A lucky find, at the perfect moment. <br/><br/>He frowned, looking at the bard. He didn’t know why Jaskier was so intent on refusing his help at every opportunity. It was stupidity, but he’d deal with it tomorrow. It wasn’t until he laid down he realized that he was on Jaskier’s bedroll, but it still smelled like Lambert.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Pretty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Panic attack Level 10, bad times were had. Details at the bottom.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning, Geralt woke with the sun. It was a late, lazy start which always sets him into a bad mood. He inspected the bag Ciri had been carrying, having taken it from her when he put her on the horse. There was one meat pie left, and a large pile of fruit tarts, and two loaves of bread. He took the pie, assuming that’s what they ate for dinner and left the sweets knowing Ciri loved them. He’d tried, at first, to stop regularly in towns to let her sleep in a bed and eat proper food but they were just too recognizable together. </span>
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  <span>He took a long patrol around their campsite, but there wasn’t anyone around. When he got back, Jaskier was changing, hair damp and his back to Ciri, He coughed quietly to announce his presence, startling the bard badly. His pale blue shirt wasn’t even laced up yet, neither were his trousers. “Ah, Geralt, I just thought I’d get a wash in, not much privacy to be had. You know.” </span>
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  <span>He hummed and watched as the bard fumbled to right himself, a few damp articles resting on tree branches to dry, including a few small lengths of bandage. </span>
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  <span>“Laundry?”</span>
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  <span>“And breakfast, thought I’d earn my keep as it were.” When Geralt didn’t reply, Jaskier pressed on. “So. Nilfgaard’s guarding the pass. Can we get through to Kaedwen, or are we going up through Redania?”</span>
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  <span>“Why would we go through Redania? You know where we’re headed.” Geralt scoffed. “How hard did you hit your head?”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier was quiet. “Lambert’s only less than a week behind us. If it’s that bad, Geralt, just go ahead. I’ll wait for Lambert and catch up.” </span>
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  <span>“Ciri will have my head, and you know it. Knock it off.”</span>
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  <span>“Lambert goes back by a pass in the northern mountains that drops you on the western side of Aedd Gynvael. He said it’s the path he takes every year. Do you think they’d go that way?”</span>
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  <span>“I know the pass. But why would he bother telling you his usual route? Going to wait for him to meet you there in the Spring?” </span>
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  <span>Jaskier just closed his eyes. “I’m just saying, Geralt, if they’re expecting us to go through Kaedwen, maybe we shouldn’t go that way.” </span>
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  <span>“I think he’s right, you know.” Ciri spoke from her bedroll, an arm covering her eyes. “Also, why wouldn’t he tell Julian? Actual friends talk to each other about stuff.” </span>
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  <span>“Ciri darling, how long have you been awake?” Jaskier handed her a strawberry tart trying not to show his worry. </span>
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  <span>“Not long. You’re all wet- is there a stream?” He pointed, and handed her the soap. He waited until she was gone, before he spoke again. </span>
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  <span>“You never answered me before. Have you taught her to escape from holds? If not, you need to start. I only know a little-” </span>
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  <span>“A little, that’s why I found you with a knife to your throat.” </span>
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  <span>“Geralt if you could for just five seconds think I had anything useful-”</span>
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  <span>“Just stop. I’ll train her as she needs.” </span>
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  <span>Ciri got back to Jaskier sitting quietly under a tree on the opposite side of the campsite. She sat next to him, and he pasted on the fakest smile she’d seen since Cintra. It hurt to look at. “Ciri darling, I was thinking. Lambert taught me all of these natural dyes, it's easier to find a nice shirt and make it the color you like, right? And the flowers and plants to do it are everywhere.” He plucked at his pale blue shirt with a smile. “Well your hair is so fair it makes you stand out. What would you think about possibly dyeing it?” He ran his fingers through it. “Brown would be too dark for you but even if we got you a darker blonde, less white, you’d blend in more especially with the new clothes.”</span>
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  <span>“Oh, that’s a clever idea. It would take time to grow out too, wouldn’t it? Geralt, you missed how brilliant it was. We walked right out, past six different Nilfgaardian soldiers. They didn’t even look twice at us.” Ciri grinned. “What do you need to dye it, Julian?”</span>
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  <span>“Ah, there’s a few options. Easiest is Celandine, though.” </span>
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  <span>Ciri clapped her hands. “Let’s do it. Geralt, celadine please!” </span>
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  <span>Geralt furrowed his brow, but left. He’d seen a few patches in his walk, and had considered picking some but he still had the Swallow that Lambert had given him. With them sleeping in so long, spending the afternoon on a disguise wasn’t a waste, they could sleep tonight and leave early in the morning. The idea to go through Redania was growing on him, though. The pass between the mountain ranges was narrow, he should have realized it was a problem beforehand. </span>
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  <span>By the time he got back to Ciri they had a fire pit and a small pot of water on to boil. He handed Jaskier the batch, which he took with a tight smile. He didn’t quite believe that it was Lambert who taught him how to make dyes, and was also greatly annoyed that Jaskier didn’t bring it up to </span>
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    <span>him</span>
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  <span>. It was a good idea. </span>
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  <span>Ciri and Jaskier tore up the plants, boiling and watching the water in the pot boil down, thickening and turning a horrendous shade of yellow. The discussion was intense, and they decided to cut a bit of her hair from the back of her neck, a small lock to test the intensity first. They had Geralt mark the time, and decided that an hour was just long enough for a believable blonde, beyond that the heavy mixture got far too brassy. It was plastered on her hair, messy and gross, one of the blankets used to keep her shirt clean. They traipsed down to the little stream hand in hand with the pot to rinse it out as soon the hour was up. </span>
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  <span>It turned out beautifully, she went from the palest of ash blondes to a warm golden blonde. Jaskier sat her down and took the scissors to it, and soon it was shaped into an actual bob, her wavy hair following her chin, making her look a little older. She no longer looked like the crown princess whose hair was hacked short with a dagger, but a teenage village girl in her brother’s clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They traveled for three days, following up the western side of the mountains. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him, but Geralt said nothing. Most days Ciri rode behind Jaskier, a delicate fist in the back of his shirt, begging for stories and tales. Jaskier spent most of the days telling Ciri the history of the continent, starting with the history of Cintra. He listened to her small stories of family and tried to add historical context. They talked about whether the more fantastic stories passed down were true, until finally, Geralt stopped them on the third day, as Jaskier sang her a song that Oxenfurt scholars suspected may have been written about a lover of her great great grandfather, and his bastard half elf the song implied was the head of another northern family. It was an old romance tale, of star crossed lovers beset upon by Destiny. </span>
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  <span>Jaskier should’ve known it would make Geralt angry. Destiny was </span>
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  <span> a good topic, and on top of that he was </span>
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  <span>about it. His eyes flashed, standing in the middle of the trail. “Do you actually know any history? Or is it just songs, lies, and speculation? He didn’t have a half elf bastard, his </span>
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    <span>wife</span>
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  <span> was half elf.” </span>
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  <span>“Wait, there’s elves in my family?”</span>
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  <span>“Cirilla not the time-” Jaskier tried to deescalate the situation, backing the horse away from Geralt. </span>
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  <span>“I swear, bard, just stick to the actual history if you’re even capable. She’s no use for pretty lies.” He stalked off, and Ciri waited until he was a distance away before speaking. </span>
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  <span>“He doesn’t like music?” </span>
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  <span>“He considers any romanticizing of events a lie. If the sea is blue, say it’s blue. Don’t say it’s wine-dark, don’t say it’s the depth of your soul in the darkest sky. He never forgave me for Toss A Coin saying the elves were slaughtered. Respect doesn’t make history, and had I sang the truth, someone else would have come along to kill them instead. Most importantly, dear girl. Don’t forget he can still hear you.”</span>
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  <span>Cirilla leaned around Jaskier to look ahead at Geralt’s back, walking away. “Really?”</span>
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  <span>“Geralt, turn around. She doesn’t believe me.”  He didn’t even raise his voice. </span>
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  <span>“Fuck off, bard.” Geralt called from down the path. </span>
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  <span>Ciri laughed, but Jaskier just sighed, and they walked on. They could see in the distance a beautiful fortress, set high up in the hills. Geralt insisted on keeping a wide berth to it, even with Ciri begging to see if there was a town they could head into. Jaskier pointed out a clearing with a curve of tall, high pine trees that both blocked the wind coming down from the mountain and from their small campfire from sight of the castle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri pouted as they set up camp, dragging her bedroll closer to Jaskier, who was picking the sharpest bits off the end of his staff. He pushed it away beside him as she came over. Geralt sighed, and looked up in the direction of the castle. “Montecalvo is too dangerous for you. We may be too close as it is. I don’t usually travel this far north, on this side of the mountains. I think it’s about two days until a river, and I know Mirt will be our last chance at a big town before Aedd Gynvael. If it’s safe, you can stay in Mirt for the night.” </span>
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    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri squealed, squeezing Jaskier tightly, making the bard groan dramatically. “Don’t kill me, darling, I’m an old man.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“An old </span>
  <em>
    <span>shaggy man.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier scratched his neck. “Yeah, it could do with some trimming. It’s been a week and a half, ugh. Look at my neck. Don’t you like the beard on me? I wasn’t sure either. Eskel’s the one who convinced me to give it a go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Geralt snorted. Eskel didn’t wear a beard, refused to risk shaving his scars. Clearly the bard never met him. He wondered if he should stop this silly story, but was honestly curious what nonsense Jaskier would make up now. He poked the stew in the pot. Squirrel wasn’t the most filling, but they’d finally eaten all the pastry, and he hadn’t wanted to break into the cured or dried rations yet. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Will I get to meet him?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, you’ll love him, Ciri. I wonder what nickname he’ll pick for you? He calls me Pretty Bird, and I had thought at first it was an insult. He’s the sweetest, though, he’d probably be just as good as I am at teaching you. He’s read near every book I’ve already studied, and recommended plenty more. I’d meant to get to a bookstore. Perhaps in Mirt, if we’re lucky.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, Jaskier. You’re still very pretty! Don’t let the scars get you down.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier froze, and Ciri clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh. That was rude, I’m sorry.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt could smell the panic rising in Jaskier, and Ciri panicking over it had them echoing the tension and fear back and forth. It clung to the back of his throat, making the whole clearing rancid and foul. It was worse than the first night he’d run into Jaskier and Lambert, when Lambert sent him away in order calm the bard down. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt leveraged himself up, coming to squat in front of the bard, who flinched back hard. “Calm the fuck down, Jaskier, don’t be so d-” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Go away, Geralt, you’re making it </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse, </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>glare at him.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri shoved him aside, pushing her way in front Jaskier’s lap, carding her fingers through his hair. The bard’s heartbeat was rabbit fast, head down, breathing far too shallow and fast. He was going to pass out if he didn’t stop soon. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Five, Julian. Come on. Five things, for me, what can you see. Focus. Please, Julian.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt shook his head. He’d seen this, before. He reached out, grabbed Jaskier’s hand and placed it directly in the center of Ciri’s chest. Just as he growled out, frustrated, “follow her-</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier looked up, face still cradled in Ciri’s small hands. It was just a moment, one wide, blue, terrified eye clear and focused on his. The other, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Oh how had he not </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He was so stunned he nearly didn’t catch the bard, before he collapsed. Ciri shrieked, and Geralt shushed her. “Give him a few minutes, he should be fine. But Cirilla. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What happened?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I don’t know. I thought you knew about it, though? He can’t see at all out of that eye. I didn’t ask how it happened. Why would I? That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt sat, waiting for Jaskier to come around. Did Lambert do this to him? It seemed reasonable. He had an explosive temper, if he’d hurt the bard he could feel obligated to care for him. Still doesn’t explain where the Cat had been all this time. The bard had been rather violent in defense of the Cat, so he doubted that he had been the one to damage him. And  that still gives no hint as to why they’d be meeting up with Eskel. Was Eskel helping care for the bard? He couldn’t very well travel alone like this. Geralt sat, and thought, mind racing, as Ciri paced, waiting for the bard to come around. </span>
  <em>
    <span></span>
    <br/>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jaskier is triggered into a panic attack, grounding was unsuccessful due to Geralt's intervention. He loses consciousness. He is never physically threatened, or in danger.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Ignite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eskel heard Lambert coming up behind him and turned. If he was in the forest he must have run into scouts as well. He pulled Scorpion to a halt and whistled, a bright bouncing six notes. Lambert pushed Thistle into a trot, appearing from the dense forest closer to the river a few minutes later. “Lamb! I didn’t expect you yet, what happened?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Scouts, probably headed this way.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck. I barely missed running into two, slipped into the woods and let them pass.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert dragged his hand over his face. “We need to turn back. We can’t run, and can’t head north.” Eskel shifted, waiting for him to continue. “I stumbled over their camp. Twelve total, four on horseback. Two chased me that I saw, one went down for sure. Possibly both.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Twelve. Fuck. They had to have gotten past somehow, they wouldn’t still be here if they caught them, right?.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But that doesn’t mean they won’t catch up.”  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright, let’s loop back around. Better to fight them in the forest if we can, keep from drawing too much attention.” They crossed the road, deliberately leaving a wide path behind them. Eskel dug through his bags, turned sideways as they walked. He pulled out a crossbow and a quiver of bolts before settling back down. “What bombs do you have left? Might be useful if we can sneak up on their campsite.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert yanked out a small bag that rattled ominously. “Packed em all together, no need to hide ‘em right now. They make Julian nervous.” Eskel leaned over and whistled. Lambert dug a hand in and tossed one to his brother. “Here, you’ll like this one. Enhanced Dragon’s Dream.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What’s the plan?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you think they all followed me?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Doubtful, you don’t have Ciri. They know what direction we’re likely headed in.” As they walked, Lambert described the campsite in the small crescent of the hills. Plans made, they fell quiet, working their way south. By now, they would all know of at least one Witcher in the area seen headed east. Eskel held a hand up, and they dismounted. Lambert tied Thistle to the pommel of Scorpion’s saddle, shoving another length of rope in his bag. It was a risk, they could lose both horses, but Scorpion would recall at Eskel’s whistle. So they took the gamble, leaving the horses tied farther away than normal. The shadows were just starting to lengthen, the run and doubling back having taken up the whole morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Eskel went to move away, however, Lambert caught the back of his gambeson and pulled him into a fierce hug. Then he drifted away, on the hunt for scouts keeping watch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were only two, but Lambert moved silently in the slowly darkening forest. The first he found was a young kid, marching, fidgeting, back and forth along the same 50 meters. Lambert slid up close, behind a thick tree near the end of his rounds. He listened to the steps fade. There was fidgeting, and bouncing then they came close again. As they drew even with the tree Lambert slid out silently, stepping in front of the boy and casting Axii. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He relaxed into it without resistance, and Lambert drew him close to the tree that blocked any view. “How many of you are there?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Only 11. There were more, but most of our scouts were taken out. Orek fell off his horse earlier today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who do you report to?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Karran has a xenovox, we’re waiting for orders.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“When are you to check in?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“At moonrise. If we’ve seen a witcher they’ll send backup.” Lambert winced. He should’ve been more careful. This was his fault. Fuck, they needed the xenovox. Plans needed to change. Lambert shoved a dagger up under the boy’s ribs, sharp and fast. He couldn’t let the kid go, but fuck he hated killing him. He tucked the body under a bush, and moved on. The second guard was even easier, leaning against a tree, bored and picking at his nails. This one he didn’t even question, cast the hardest Somne he could manage, tossing him over a shoulder. He took off at a jog, finding a hidden enough tree to gag and tie him to. If they got the Xenovox, a familiar voice could be handy. However when he glanced up, bright green eyes startled him, rolling back onto his heels before he recognized the small face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello Witcher-friend. Where is your friend?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah. Hello, little one. He’s farther ahead, with another friend of mine. I’m trying to protect him from these guys.” Lambert waved at the tied up Nilfgaardian with his blade. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The little godling frowned. “Thought you didn’t kill.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I said I wouldn’t kill </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little one. You weren’t hurting anyone. These people want to hurt our friend Julian, and the young one that’s with him.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wickedly sharp teeth smiled. “Friend Julian kept the crown, you are both very silly. Was not his gift.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Didn’t want to offend.” Lambert sat down, offering a hand to the godling, who sat beside him. “Do you want to help Julian?” The small smile was wide and vicious, eyes nearly black. “The one in charge has a box, it will look something like this. I need it. Can you get it safely? Then my brother and I can handle them. Watch for him. He’s another witcher with a red coat. Eyes like mine. I’m going to go tell him you are a friend. He will not hurt you either, ok?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert waited for the little nod, and the godling disappeared back into the brush. He took off, low and quiet, running wide and around the top of the back hill overlooking the campsite. He climbed quickly, and soon he saw Eskel’s eyes catching the glow of the setting sun. They  crept forward to look over the edge of the small hill to look down at the campsite. “Any scouts up here?” Lambert spoke softly, but doubting the chatter below would let him be heard anyway. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“One, he’s over there.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Two, I left one alive. They’re reporting by xenovox soon. We have an ally, by the way. Julian managed to befriend a godling, who apparently has been following us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Following?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Witcher friend? Is this Witcher Brother?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hello,” Eskel crouched down. “I’m Eskel. What may I call you?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The little godling looked at him sideways, and held the box out to Lambert. “Thank you, little friend. Have you found a town yet?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Still looking. Where is Friend going?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We’re going far north, but you know we move around a lot. Were you looking, or just following us?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Both?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Go find a home, little one. Thank you for your help. If you wait by the horses, we’ll see you in a little while if you want a ride.” They watched as the little one disappeared into the brush before Eskel brandished the bomb with a wide, toothy grin that made his scars look sharp and severe. The glint in his eyes was bright, but the feral gleam matched the one in Lambert’s. Peering down, they watched the scouts slowly gather in, likely to hear the incoming call. Lambert beckoned, and Eskel tossed the bomb to him, then took off at a jog, no longer bothering to be very stealthy. The chatter would disguise almost everything. They needed to hurry, before the xenovox activated. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert watched, waiting. He saw the glint of Eskel’s eyes in the shadows of the woods, the slight glint of his steel sword. He tossed the bomb, landing directly in the middle of the loose group gathered near the apparent leader, who was sitting with a bound and splint leg leaning against a tree. The gas bloomed, sending them all scrambling as Eskel strode into the small campsite. For all his easy grace and gentle smiles, the figure before him now was transformed. He radiated aggression and dominance, from the angry sneer down to the battle ready stance. His steel sword was balanced lazily, threateningly, on one of his broad shoulders. The bright reds of the sun melting into the tops of the trees behind him was mirrored by his deep red coat. The darkness of the forest behind him made the shine of Eskel’s golden eyes even more unsettling. The spikes that covered his armor glittered in the dying light.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hear you’ve been looking for Witchers, boys.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Steel was drawn, and Eskel watched as the smoke curled lazily around their feet. He raised one hand, and with a wink to Lambert who scrambled back before casting a hasty Heliotrope, Eskel lit up the sky with an Igni fueled by the rage that they dare hunt his family, his brothers, his favorite bard, and now, his niece. He swept his arm wide, grinning as the gas reacted,  the blazing column of fire shooting high above the treeline. With a snort, he let it go, and watched, waiting for the gas to burn off. No one would survive this inferno. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He watched as Lambert dragged the scout he’d taken care of at the top of the hill to the edge and shove him over down into the blaze. He disappeared back into the dark, and a few minutes later popped up beside him, dragging the other dead scout. Eskel grabbed the ankles while Lambert had the wrists, and swinging, they tossed the body in the flames.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The gas burned off quickly, but the charred earth of the campsite left no doubt their followers were taken care of. They left the smoldering bodies and supplies, and headed off to find their last little friend. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They found the Godling watching him, as the scout shook. “Hello Witcher friend, Witcher brother. He is awake now.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Your turn, I already had to Axii his buddy.” Lambert shuddered, sitting next to the tiny creature. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah, sorry Lamb. I should’ve traded, I know you hate that.” At Lambert’s dismissive lift of one shoulder, Eskel turned his attention to the last scout, his hand raised. The angry, aggressive glare melted off his face, his eyes glazed and face went slack. Possibly a bit too hard, there. He pulled the drool soaked gag off the scouts head. “You saw no witchers. It’s been quiet, and still. Your leader’s horse fell and he got a concussion, that’s why he’s not answering. You’re awaiting orders, but heard rumors of the witcher you seek going back to Cintra.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He nodded, a blissful smile. They only waited 10 more minutes before the xenovox came to life.  “Karran! Report!” The scout did an admirable job, but thankfully weren’t grilled for instructions. They were recalled to Cintra without Eskel’s deflection, before the xenovox cut out. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert gestured with his knife, and at Eskel’s nod, he drove it carefully between the ribs, stopping the heart immediately. He died with a smile, eyes still glazed. Lambert tossed the xenovox on his lap before rooting through his pockets, removing a coin purse, and a handful of letters. Frowning, he stood and pulled the little godling away. Eskel cast Igni where he stood, burning the body and device as Lambert read the letters. “They’re all just letters to a sweetheart. Don’t read like anything in code, do you want to check?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Burn them.” Eskel shrugged, and Lambert balled them up, tossing them one by one into the flames. Neither of them were going to want to eat fire cooked </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a while. The sky was darkening fast, but neither one of them wanted to camp here with the stench of burnt flesh and leather in the air. So they found a dozing Scorpion, who had been pulled closer to a wildflower patch that Thistle was happily munching down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With both horses well, they mounted up. Eskel offered a hand to the little godling, as Thistle was too nervous of the small creature. They sat on Scorpion’s wide, flat haunches, and when asked for directions to a good place to camp for the night they just shrugged. “It’ll show up when you’re ready, Witcher Friend. Or does it only work for Friend? Hm.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They moved south east, and only walked an hour before they found a beautiful clearing with a deep pond. The little godling hummed, jumping down and disappearing into the trees as the boys set up camp for the night, skipping a fire and just eating the cured meats and some bread before flipping a coin to see who would take first watch. Eskel won, and threw himself on his bedroll, falling asleep almost immediately as Lambert knelt down, spreading out his blades on the bedroll to clean and sharpen. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Constellations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Uh. Oh my, my folks.  This fic just hit 10,000 hits. I'm so overwhelmed. Thank you, so much.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Today we have: Jack Johnson's "Constellations"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier opened his eyes, and groaned, closing them immediately and pressing his hands to his eyes. He felt woozy and drained, wrung out like an old towel. When he opened his eyes again, Ciri’s bright green eyes were peering down into his.<br/><br/>“Julian? Ready to sit up? I’m very sorry for upsetting you.”<br/><br/>Groaning, he leveraged himself up with her help, looking around slowly. Geralt had started a stew, and was sitting at the far end of the clearing. “I’ll be alright, princess.”<br/><br/>He watched Geralt, stern and focused, sharpening a dagger. He watched him quietly, his enormous hands competent and calm. He cut an imposing figure when angry, but for now, his sharp edges were smoothed by his focus on the task at hand. Jaskier stayed quiet, memories of nights like this through all the past years overlapping, until a thought of Lambert’s bright eyes and lazy smile as he cared for his blades. He carried small daggers and blades secreted throughout his armor and pack, but even on nights he pulled every last one out to clean he was relaxed and smiling. He’d pause and wave one, gesturing in conversation. He’d poke the blade towards him, eyes crinkled in whatever joke he’d been making. Even in his darkest days, the care of the blades wasn’t a meditative, solitary activity. It was a moment of quiet, and fairly early on their travels he’d taught Jaskier how to care for them. They’d spent hours, side by side, cleaning and caring for them. </p><p> </p><p>His contemplation was interrupted when Geralt’s golden eyes caught his. “When.”<br/><br/>Jaskier swallowed, and Ciri pressed close. “It’s how I met Lambert. Ah. Close to a year and a half now.”<br/><br/>Geralt just hummed. “That’s why you were traveling together? He trying to make it up to you?”<br/><br/>“What? No? We are friends. This wasn’t his fault.” Jaskier cast about, thinking. Could Lambert feel guilty? It was never his fault. He thought of Lambert making him the staff, teaching him to guard and block his blind side. The gentle care that warred with the viciousness he’d seen the witcher capable of. And then… Lambert’s wry face, so long ago in the forest of Holopole.<br/><br/><em> “Guess I was too late to help someone else. Why not help you?” </em> <em><br/><br/></em></p><p><em> “Could be argued to be my fault. My fault you’re a freak like me, now.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> Fuck. had he done it again? Followed someone where he wasn’t wanted, mistaken because his kindness was more tactile? Geralt had his difficulties with understanding art and metaphors, and so often was overwhelmed by sound he needed quiet. And quiet was the absolute opposite of everything Jaskier was. <em> Fuck. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> Geralt’s eyebrow lifted, probably smelling every last frustrated and confused emotion pouring off of him. He still felt dizzy, cotton headed and wasn’t sure if he’d be sick or not. It was then the leaves and pine needles of the clearing began to spin, whipped up into a bright purple circle, and Yennefer stepped out.<br/><br/>She was beautiful as always, but clearly tired. Geralt was immediately at her side, a hand under her arm and she swatted him away, brow furrowed. Ciri scrambled up, crashing into Yennefer.<br/><br/>Yenn pet her hair, drawing fingers through it. “Who dyed your hair, Cirilla? I should’ve thought of it, what a clever disguise.”<br/><br/>“Julian did! We got new clothes, too.” She spun, showing off her outfit, shoving her hands in the pockets of her long, heavy vest.<br/><br/>“Julian. Going by your given name now, bard?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow, lips tilted in a smirk before tilting her head, considering. “Oh. I thought it was Geralt, but it’s <em> you.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “ </em> Hello, Yennefer. If you’re here to take them away, just please leave the horse behind.”<br/><br/>“Take? No, Phillipa sent me out to see what magic was making her wards jangle.” She waved a hand carelessly at the castle on the hill. Geralt grumbled.<br/><br/>“He’s not magical, and I <em> knew </em> we were too close. Yenn, you said they could track portals.”<br/><br/>“Geralt, one day you’ll learn to say what you mean instead of couching it in cruelty. Be silent or go away. The bard and I need to talk. May I sit, Jaskier? Julian?” Ciri crept over beside her, and Jaskier held out his left hand to the girl, who curled up beside him, leaning a head on his shoulder. “Do you know why you reek of magic? May I look?”<br/><br/>Jaskier looked at her, exhausted. “Yenn, could I even stop you?”<br/><br/>She sighed, and turned, glaring at Geralt. Turning her attention back on Jaskier, she knelt before him, curled up delicately in the dirt. “That would be my fault, certainly. I apologize, Julian. The wish… twisted magic. I saw you as a rival, and thought it’d be your fault when he left. I didn’t realize I was <em> bound to him.</em>I would like to be friends, especially if we’re both here to care for Cirilla.”<br/><br/>“What are you wanting to know?”<br/><br/>“There's magic on you that wasn’t there before. You can’t tell?” He shook his head, and she frowned. “Any big changes? I don’t want to go rummaging through your memories to find it more than necessary.”<br/><br/>“He’s blind. Hides it.” Geralt gestured to his own face and grunted.<br/><br/>Yenn blinked, and reached a hand out. “May I?”  She watched his face, and at the smallest nod she brushed her fingers through his hair, a gentle hand tracing over the pale, wrinkled scars. She ran a finger over his eyebrow. “That… could be it. I’m sorry, Jaskier. It won’t be an easy memory to recall, will it?”<br/><br/>“Do it, I guess. Already had one panic today, I think I might be too numb for another.”<br/><br/>She frowned, but fixed his hair and offered a hand until he twisted his trembling fingers in hers. “It won’t hurt. If there’s something you wish me not to see, just think it as if you were speaking to me. I’ll hear it.”<br/><br/>And with that, he was dropped back in the dark, night, the screaming mob, an arm holding him back while Lambert was screaming. <em> No. </em> The fight, the searing light, pain. It skipped and hopped forward, she was feeling for magic in his moments of consciousness. Lambert, teaching him balance. Lambert, carving him a staff. Lambert, cry- <em> No. </em> Lambert’s silhouette on the rock outcropping. Eskel’s smile across a campfire. Vesemir’s serious stance, arms crossed across a training courtyard. Singing into the mountain, the sensation of arms pulling him back. Singing, in the hot sp- <em> No. </em> His hands, stitching a gash. Lambert’s bright eyes in firelight, the sound of thun- <em> No. </em> Lambert, punching a bard. The bright green eyes of a godling, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Oh, Yennefer caught on the edges of that one. A blessing?<br/><br/>She skipped forward, searching more deliberately, the bright clear memory of Jaskier angry at Geralt over a … cat? <em> NO. </em> It was a memory laced through with anger and panic, so she soothed him and moved on. A beautifully flat path, a clear stream. Geralt’s sneer, and walking away. A perfect campground.<br/><br/><em> Jaskier, why are you afraid of Geralt? </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> Flashes of Geralt’s angry face, a punch. Waking alone in a forest, in an inn, a campsite in a flower filled meadow. His back walking away over and over again. She’d expected to see the mountain, but it never appeared. What did appear was an angry face, a bright, recent memory and Geralt grabbing his arm.</p><p><em> I told him to leave me behind if he hates me so much but he won’t. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> Calm, Jaskier. He can’t hear you now, he won’t know.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> I will, though. </em> An interposed image of Geralt yelling about Jaskier’s latest mistake, and Lambert snapping at him in a courtyard about dropping his elbow.<br/><br/><em> They’re not the same, Jaskier. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em>The sensation of a fist in his hair, a knife to his throat, his voice asking Geralt to teach Ciri to escape holds. The moment of being wrapped in strong arms, a shift, and then Lambert’s wicked smile looking up at him from the ground. Geralt’s angry face, ‘Just stop’. </p><p> </p><p>Yennefer soothed him the best she could, drawing gently away and out of his memories. He shuddered, and she tugged his fingers gently. <em> Need a hug, Julian? </em> </p><p><br/>He tipped forward, allowing himself to be held between the two women. It didn’t last, as Geralt pulled the stew away from the campfire, and grumbled. “Did you figure it out?”<br/><br/>“I figured out you’re being a fucking assboil still. Really, Geralt? Discouraging him from teaching her self defense?”<br/><br/>“What could he <em>possibly</em> know that Vesemir can’t teach?”<br/><br/>She tipped her head back, breathing deeply. “Why is he even here, Geralt? Why didn’t you leave him where you found him?”<br/><br/>“You can’t have my bard, Yennefer.”<br/><br/>She burst out laughing. “Yours?! He hasn’t been <em> yours </em> in a long time.”<br/><br/>“Yenn, stop. I’m not anyone’s. I’m not even a bard anymore.”<br/><br/></p><p>She rubbed a hand over his arm, shushing and soothing as Geralt ranted. “This is ridiculous, Lambert was just feeling guilty. He’s probably glad for the peace and quiet for the rest of the season. Jaskier is the smartest, most well educated person I know, who can teach Ciri things none of us were taught. If he wants to see his new friend, Lambert will probably winter in Kaer Morhen.”<br/><br/></p><p>Three pairs of eyes stared at him. Ciri twisted, wrapping herself even tighter around Julian, whispering into his chest. “You’re my friend, Julian. I love you, even if you teach me not one thing and sing me nothing but that awful song about kissing that grandfather loved so much.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, but stayed quiet.<br/><br/></p><p>Yennefer considered the man at her side, and all she’d seen. It may have started as gratefulness, but clearly is more now. She didn’t think it’d go over well to say as much tonight. She summoned a small box with a flick of her wrist and pressed it into Jaskier’s hand. “Julian, I have to get going. I was here to see Phillipa. Try not to stress that Blessing. I’m not entirely sure everything it entails, but you’ll be okay. You’re doing a wonderful job protecting her. Ciri, I’ll be back soon. Keep being brave.” She stood, moving to stand in front of Geralt. “Figure your shit out, Geralt. You’ve been crueler than I thought you capable of.”<br/><br/>His face remained impassive, so she just shook her head, turned away and spun open another portal, disappearing with as little fanfare as she arrived.  Jaskier fiddled with the box, holding it up to Geralt with questions in his eye.<br/><br/></p><p>True to fashion, he grunted. “Xenovox. She’ll be able to contact us with it.”<br/><br/>He inspected it, tucking the box in a pocket of his vest. Thankfully the corners were rounded, so it likely wouldn’t damage the leather. He shooed Ciri away to get herself food, and he laid down staring at the stars. Food wasn’t going to happen after everything, and he thought sleep wouldn’t either. But when Ciri finished, she shoved her bedroll even closer before poking him until he lifted an arm for her to curl up into his side. “It’ll be okay, Julian. Can <em> I </em> sing <em> you </em> a lullaby?”<br/><br/>“You can sing to me whenever you like, darling girl. Do I know the song?”<br/><br/>“Maybe.” She sang softly, her voice still the light tone of childhood. He could see her having a lovely voice if trained, but often the imperfections of a song sung out of love was what made them special.<br/><br/><em> The west winds often last too long<br/></em> <em> But when they come down nothing ever feels the same<br/></em> <em> Sheltered under the Kamani tree waiting for the passing rain<br/></em> <em> Clouds keep moving to uncover the sea<br/></em> <em> Stars above us chasing the day away<br/></em> <em> To find the stories that we sometimes need<br/></em> <em> Listen close enough all else fades<br/></em> <em> Fades away </em></p><p><em> It was just another night with the sunset and<br/></em> <em> The moonrise not so far behind<br/></em> <em> To give us just enough light<br/></em> <em> To lay down underneath the stars listening to<br/></em> <em> All the translations of the stories across the sky to do our own constellations </em></p><p><br/>He glanced over at Geralt, as she sang. For once, the witcher’s face was open and soft, eyes shining as he listened to Ciri sing. He was relaxed, his head tilted in that slight way that meant she’d caught his entire attention. Jaskier was eternally grateful that it was only his voice that drove the witcher to anger. Singing was one of the easiest ways for him to express and process his own emotions. It might not be taken away from her. When he caught the witcher’s golden eyes across the fire, Geralt just smiled softly. Jaskier just looked back at the sky, and whispered. “Sing it one more time, Cirilla.”</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Bugs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry for the delay. Bit of writer's block.</p>
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    <p>Lambert woke his brother up when the sky just started to lighten. He just called softly, and Eskel groaned, rolling over. “Fuck. You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” <br/><br/>“You needed it more.” <br/><br/>“Fuck off, Lambert. You never want to sleep after using Axii. Lay down for a few hours, we can spare that much.” The young witcher grumbled, but curled up with his back to the small fire he’d built during the night. Eskel left him to nap, taking the horses to a stream and watering them. He let them roll in the grass, Thistle especially pleased to be free from her hobbles. He tied Thistle back on the picket line, leaving Scorpion ground tied. He couldn’t venture far from the clearing having already risked waking Lambert by leaving with the horses. So he sat, pulling out a fair chunk of jerky and dried fruits for breakfast before settling down to wait as the sky slowly brightened. <br/><br/>It wasn’t long before the little Godling returned. “Witcher-brother.” <br/><br/>“Hello, little one.” He held out a few dried strawberries, which were plucked from his hand. “Are you going to keep following us? We’re headed to Hagge next, but probably not going to look much for smaller towns on our way, one that’d be better for you.” <br/><br/>“You shouldn’t go to Hagge. Looked there. Too many bugs in that swamp.” <br/><br/>Eskel considered this, handing over a few more bits of fruit before the sun finally started peeking over the treetops. He rose and started tacking up the horses. By the time he had both horses saddled and his saddlebags on Scorpion, Lambert ambled up, blinking and tired. He tossed his saddlebags on Thistle, then scrubbed his hands through his damp hair, making it messy, hanging down in his eyes before he ran a hand through it again, pulling it out of his face. “Forgot to take the damn hair wax from Jules when I left, this shit is going to drive me crazy.” <br/><br/>“Leave it grow out, your curls are adorable. And did you <em> really </em> forget? Or did you leave it so the bag would smell like you?” <br/><br/>“I’m not a damn animal, Eskel he’s not a tree to scent mark.” <br/><br/>“Hmm.” <br/><br/>Lambert untied Thistle, swinging up into the saddle, leaving Eskel to take down the picket line. They rode northeast, the forest slowly getting more dense and boggy, sucking at the horse’s feet as the day faded. They managed to find a tiny corner of bog that was dry enough to hold the horse’s weight, and they took shifts sleeping. The bog was too quiet, too silent for Lambert to meditate as his brother slept. </p><p> </p><p>They only bothered with one bedroll, sharing Eskel’s. It’d have to dry, so they shared, Eskel kneeling at Lambert’s feet as he slept. His feet tucked between Eskel’s knees, he slept deep and hard, the comfort of someone else close by calming the nightmares. Lambert sat in the crook of Eskel’s knees when it was his turn, whittling a small bit of wood he’d broken off a tree. It was the deepest dark before morning, the stillness of the bog broken only by the soft crackle of the fire behind him. The moss burned low and warm, but not bright enough to drive back the shadows. <br/><br/>He wasn’t surprised when the little Godling sat in front of him. “I told Witcher Brother not to go this way. <em> Bugs.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> Lambert shrugged. “We need to follow Julian. If they’re bad bugs, dealing with them is our job.” <br/><br/>“But you’re not following Friend.”  <br/><br/></p><p>He fumbled the tiny little wooden bird, slicing his finger. “What do you mean?” <br/><br/>The little Godling shrugged. “Wrong side of the big mountain.” <br/><br/>Lambert sagged, “Fuck. Are you <em> sure? </em> ” He rubbed the bloody finger on his leg, poking at it as it slowly stopped bleeding. The little godling didn’t answer, and at the density of the bog they would likely reach Hagge in the morning. It’d take at least two days to get back to the western side of the mountains. And they had an eight day lead, if they didn’t get held up. This was the first time in many, many years he returned to Kaer Morhen through Kaedwen. <br/><br/>There were too many unknowns. They couldn’t turn back. He went back to work on the fat little wren’s small wings. <br/><br/>------------------ <br/><br/>The rest of the ride to Hagge was uneventful, the little godling disappearing in the morning, refusing to return to the home of the bugs. The town surrounding the castle was strangely welcoming, and the tavern owner had sent for the steward of the castle before they even sat down for their meal. Turns out they’d been desperately waiting for a witcher -any witcher- to show up. The pay offered was excellent, but the contract was concerning. There were reports of a nest of kikimore in a cave not far from the castle, north, where the rivers converging overflowed into a swamp. </p><p> </p><p>They managed to secure a room with two beds in the roof of the tavern. It was small and dusty, but had all the room they’d need. They divided up their tasks- Eskel would scout the nest, and Lambert would work on restocking their potions. The plan played to each of their strengths. Eskel’s easy, relaxed manner meant he was always the best out of all of them dealing with contractors, even with the scars that caused so many to flinch from him at first. </p><p> </p><p>He rode out early the next morning, with two of the castle guards. He’d done his best to impress upon the steward the danger of a nest- if bad enough it could still overwhelm two witchers working together. The guards would be mostly useless in scouting, but would serve to impress upon the steward that the danger of the hunt was not exaggerated. The nest was a two hour ride out, and Eskel managed to make it there by early morning. His companions stayed far back, uncertain and unsure. But they were useful when it came time to scout the nest itself. They split up, scouting around it before Eskel ventured closer. He had Lambert’s last Cat potion but didn’t take it. He waited, watching carefully. <br/><br/>It was bad. He counted two warriors, and when he got back to the two guards they reported that there were six more they’d seen around the area. They had stayed at a distance, carefully avoiding disturbing them. He took the opportunity on the way back to take out two of the six. The guards declined returning with a trophy, so by the time Eskel walked back into their small attic room Lambert had rows of bottles for Eskel on a small table and had managed to restock their trail rations. </p><p> </p><p>“Took you fucking long enough, how bad is it? Can we finish up tonight?” Lambert was pacing, agitated and unhappy.<br/><br/>“You know why we’re hunting- and this is a big one. We couldn’t leave it in good conscience anyway.” <br/><br/>“ <em> You </em> couldn’t. <em> I </em> very well could.” Eskel just raised an eyebrow, waiting until Lambert threw up his hands and stomped away. “Fuck, <em> no </em> , shut up. I know.” <br/><br/>“We should leave early, try to get there before dawn. I’m starving, is the food here any good?” <br/><br/>Lambert shrugged. Between heading out on Thistle to forage and scouring the marketplace for the last few things he’d needed to brew potions, he’d spent the day in their room. He managed to find word of a small village to the south in Aedirn having issues with a noonwraith, and promised them along to deal with it. He didn’t want to go out of their way, but Eskel was right. The more they looked normal, the more they’d distract from Geralt and the princess heading north, the better it was. Limiting abnormal behaviour, and leading any gossip south was the goal. </p><p> </p><p>They started out well before the sun rose, heading out to the swamp before even the birds started to sing. Riding for two hours before dawn in the swamp was dreary, cold and oppressive, the damp humidity making the ride unpleasant. They rode in silence, having packed all of the potions and supplies the night before- ideally they would head south to the noonwraith contract Lambert had arranged immediately after this one. It was uncommon enough to see the wolf witchers traveling in pairs, they needed to avoid looking like they were heading home. <br/><br/>Eskel showed where he’d left Scorpion the day before and they left him tied loosely, a simple slipknot that he could free himself from with a tug. Thistle, however, was firmly tied to the pommel of Scorpion’s saddle. The bag of bombs was slung over Lambert’s shoulder, and they each tucked a few potions in pockets. It was far less stressful for both of them to finally have a decent supply- not risking a bad hit. If they were lucky, they could sneak in and collapse the Tunnel, not having to worry too much about actually fighting any of the warriors, much less the Queen. It wouldn’t take long before they turned on each other, decimating the population long before they would dig another tunnel out. <br/><br/>So they crept as quietly as they could- moving through a swamp was never totally silent. Lambert much preferred walking through the bog. At least with light feet you could stay quiet and dry. The swamp was safer for the horses, though. Less risk of one of them snapping a leg. Lambert watched, suddenly grateful one more time that Julian <em> wasn’t </em> with him. A swamp full of kikimore was not the ideal place for a bard, much less one who had not yet mastered his swordwork. Maybe he could work on carving a better staff for him. It wasn’t until Eskel elbowed him did he realize he was <em> absolutely not paying attention </em> while they were sneaking up on a potentially large nest of kikimores. <em> Fucking Stupid. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> When he was waved to a stop they both tossed back White Honey just in case. Lambert debated, but tossed back half of a Cat potion as well. The plan was one of them would sneak in as far as they could, which was obviously Lambert. He had only a few bombs but if he tossed his last Dragon’s Dream in first… theoretically the explosion of the other two should ignite the gas. <em> Should. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> Eskel squeezed his shoulder, and with a nod, Lambert pulled out his silver sword and slipped into the darkness. He stayed sliding against the wall, silent and careful. He could see the remnants and bones that were the hallmark of kikimore nests. He could smell them, even at this distance, but they were often nighttime creatures. If he was quiet, he should be able to get close. Thankfully, human dug caves were predictable, and right where he expected it, a small wall blocked the view down into a deeper, wide cavern. He watched silently, listening, the distinct scrape and soft trills of the occupants far within. They’d timed it just right, but he was definitely not foolish enough to go in to confirm whether or not there was a queen. He tossed the dragon’s dream in gently, watching it roll and clatter softly down the mud hill, counting until the fuse had blown, the faint hissing setting him in motion. He’d extended the fuses of the last four bombs the night before. <br/><br/>Eskel had offered to be the one to set them off, but Lambert honestly wasn’t sure how the bombs would react to simply being engulfed in flames. He makes them for himself, the spark he’s grown so good at creating with the slightest movement of his fingers after so many decades of practice nearly like breathing. He was never as good at signs as Eskel was, but this one thing, this one very small, very accurate thing he could do with Igni was <em> his </em> . <br/><br/>So he sheathed his sword, relieved to have met no resistance. Then he set the bombs, dug them into the sides of the tunnel, one on each corner.  The fuses were long enough that they could be gathered up in one hand. This was overkill- he should have made them quite a bit shorter but to be fair Eskel wasn’t there to ask how big the cave was, and then later he’d just shrugged and left them. <br/><br/>He dug out another and tossed it down into the dragon’s dream mist to ignite it- not exactly what they’d planned, but Eskel hadn’t thought there’d be the ledge blocking the way. Better to be safe. The moment he released the lit bomb, he lit the fuses to the four in the tunnel, and took off at a full run. <br/><br/>The rush of flame behind him was brutal, the natural ventilation of the cave must have been pulling the gas forward. Lambert stumbled, realizing a second later the flames coming this way would light the bombs <em> faster </em> so he pushed himself harder, exploding out from the tunnel, spooking Eskel who whipped around ready to attack whatever was chasing Lambert. Spinning around, Lambert grabbed the back of his armor, shoving him to the ground, throwing a hand up with a bright Quen only seconds before the blast shook the forest, showering the golden dome with dirt and rocks. <br/><br/>That’s when the screaming began. Two warriors came scrabbling towards them from the swamp itself, angry and hissing. Lambert was not sure if they were drawn by the explosion or if there was a secondary exit. The battle was hard, and he got stabbed through the thigh for all of his effort. When he dispatched his, he turned in time to see Eskel, silver sword flashing between two warriors - when had the third showed up? He was dizzy and tired, but Eskel’s bright Quen balanced between long, vicious strikes of his sword had the battle handled in minutes. He was <em> covered </em> in swamp water and kikimore entrails, a bright, adrenaline fuelled grin plastered on his face. <br/><br/>A grin that faded as he ran towards Lambert, dragging him up and over his shoulder to head back to the horses. Lambert loudly protested this. </p><p> </p><p>“What kind of ridiculous overcompensation is your armor even? The damn spikes on your shoulders hurt more than the damn hole in my leg <em> put me down.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> <br/></em> “Would Julian let you walk on it?” <br/><br/>Lambert growled at that, because no, he wouldn’t, and that’s <em> not </em> a fair comparison. Jules wasn’t here and he’s perfectly capable of walking on this. He'd done it before. He’d done worse, before, and he didn’t have Julian, or Aiden, or Eskel then. He’d done it alone, and he could do it again. He jabbed Eskel in the hips with an angry finger, but he was wholly ignored. <br/><br/>“Will you stop the tantrum? You know swamp water is especially awful in wounds. Let’s get it cleaned up and you can show Jaskier your new scar.” <br/><br/>“Fuck off with that already, okay? Put me down. You didn’t even confirm there wasn’t a second exit.” <br/><br/>“That’s what the horses are for” <br/><br/>Eskel shoved him on Thistle, not even untying her from Scorpion. They took a long loop around the swamp, but no other entrances or exits were visible. It seemed well enough, and they knew for sure at least five of them were dead. It was only then Eskel finally relented and untied the mare so they could head back to the town. If they hurried, the room was still theirs until noon- they could both have a bath and be on their way south without having to pay extra. <br/><br/></p><p><br/>The innkeep wasn’t surprised to see them, as Eskel had warned them beforehand that they planned to be back to bathe. Thankfully the good word from the steward of the castle had kept their room. There were two tubs downstairs, a room down off the kitchens set aside for bathing. Eskel wasn’t impressed, he preferred the privacy of a room. So Lambert stood guard while he bathed, complaining the entire time. He didn’t truly mind, he knew his brother’s concern. But the Cat still had his eyes stinging, and he knew he was in for stitches. So he bitched and moaned and shaved, perched naked on a small stool. His beard was just getting messy and long enough to annoy him, and as soon as Eskel was comfortably covered he dove into the bath, hissing at the soap in the puncture wound. <br/><br/>But he washed, keeping the wound mostly out of the water, one leg flung over the side of the tub after a cursory wash. Eskel washed his hands in the bathwater, flicking wet hands at Lambert before digging in to make sure the wound was clean. It was stitched closed, the ragged star shaped scar on the outside of his thigh was a lucky shot and more annoying in that it ripped a hole in his better pair of trousers. It was always unpleasant to have the salve and bandages under his clothes, but it was better than risking infection. <br/><br/>He grimaced, knowing that the saddlebags he left with Julian had all the extra bits of leather and sewing materials. He had no idea what Eskel had to patch them. But either way, he dressed in his spare clothes before stuffing the dirty ones in his saddle bag. They had no time to wash clothes now, but if they rode out they should hit the small village in Aedirn by dark. The innkeep waved away any payment, handing over the pouch the steward had left in their care, Lambert picking through it to confirm their pay while Eskel attempted to block the view of his brother’s rude behaviour. He paid for a few meat pies and cheese, both of them downing an ale before they got up to leave.</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Fairytales</h2></a>
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  <span>Geralt wasn’t around when Jaskier woke up, and Ciri was still twitching slightly on her bedroll, brows furrowed. The sunrise wasn’t far off, but the morning was noticeably cooler in the shadow of the mountains. They weren’t close enough yet to see the dip between the ranges that held the small pass they’d go through, but at least the mountains would guide them on their path. </span>
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  <span>Leveraging himself up, Jaskier considered his stick as he shrugged on his armor vest. He’d been avoiding forms since Geralt chided him, though apparently he hadn’t known of his disability at the time</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier frowned at the thought, wondering if he was now more or less likely to be left behind. With a sigh he shoved his boots on and went to try his forms. It didn’t work. The stick was unbalanced, he couldn’t focus for worry Geralt would return. He flung the stick down, aggravated, before stomping back over to his bedroll. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ciri would be up soon, breakfast needed to be made, camp to be packed up, and he still needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Apparently, Lambert had been right and the little Godling had given him something, but Yenn hadn’t confirmed what it was except for the fact it wasn’t dangerous. He dug out a handful of jerky and prodded Ciri awake. They had to get moving, he was just as eager as Geralt to get to Kaer Morhen, if only to get some breathing room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were ready and packed for the day when Geralt finally returned. He didn’t say where he’d gone, but just appeared through the trees. Ciri had already eaten and done her forms as Jaskier tacked up the horse. He decided walking was the best option, still fuzzy and shaken from the previous night. The trail here was wide enough he just looped a hand around Ciri’s right ankle with a questioning glance. She wiggled her foot. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not going to lead Egg?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, I just need the stretch for a little while. Still feel sore and shocky from last night. Easier to catch a stumble holding on to something steady if you don’t mind?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’re my friend, Julian. Of course I don’t. Want me to carry your stick if you won't be using it? Maybe I can stab Geralt with it a few times. I know very well you asked him not to startle you and then he went and did it again.” Ciri glared at Geralt, who just turned and walked down the trail ahead of them. His long legs ate up the distance, forcing Ciri to encourage Egg to try and keep up.  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt frowned as he stalked down the path. Startling him? The bard asked him not to touch- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He thought back- he’d grabbed Jaskier’s left shoulder. He wouldn’t have seen him coming. Geralt kept going, letting them drop farther behind. He’d noticed Jaskier was more willing to talk to Ciri when he wasn’t too close, though he knew the bard hadn’t forgotten the range of his hearing. It didn’t make any sense, but the last time he left them he had actually started teaching Ciri part of the continent’s history, even if he got distracted by silly, inaccurate songs. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So he stayed far ahead, still well within hearing range and soon enough, Ciri asked Jaskier to sing her a song. The bard demurred, but asked if she knew the history of the song she’d sung to him. Geralt frowned, but listened to him speak. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The song comes from Kerack, my dear. It’s part of a long story told in the area. But Kerack is so small now, that only the songs and poems remain. The story behind it… it’s old, and no one knows how true any of it is.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Please tell me! Is it romantic?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Very. Now, listen. </span>
  <span> Once upon a time, Ciri, Kerack belonged to the elves. They built the lighthouse, meant to guide ships in the night. Back then, Skellige was far different than now, but the islands and the continent were friendly. For a while, anyway. Trade was good, the elves and humans were mostly friendly. They started to move into the lands, living together, making cities.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Colonizing.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, my dear. But one day, a young knight from Skellige traveled to Kerack, seeking the hand of a princess for his liege. He was an honorable sort, however, and when he heard of a dragon ravaging the human settlements he rode fast to help. The contract was promised to a witcher, and the young knight offered his blade in assistance. Back then, witchers weren’t as ill treated yet. So they took the contract together from the leader of the human settlements. He had been in discussion with the elves on how to remove the dragon peacefully, but his patience wore thin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The witcher and the young knight fought together to best the dragon, and succeeded. However in all his gratitude to the witcher, he left the entire coin payment to him, and asked only the law of surprise for himself. This brought him a potion, and the hand of the elven princess. However, the entire reason why he was there was to arrange a marriage between the princess and his liege. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, as honor dictates to him, he gathered the princess in a small caravan and they headed back towards Skellige. It’s a slow journey with a princess and a caravan, and they had plenty of time to talk and become friends. The knight was Kerack born- of one of the settlements, and at the influx of piracy and less honorable trades, he’d left in search of a liege lord to swear his blade to to live in honor. But he knew he couldn’t cheat Destiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There’s lots of discussion why, and how. My family tells the story that Tristan was caught, taken back to his family home. Upon hearing of his son’s law of surprise, the Viscount insisted his son take the potion. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It bound him to the princess, magically. It was probably just a love potion, a kindness to a princess to be married off for political gain. I’m sorry, dear heart. But politics. I’m sure Calanthe warned you?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, she said she would do her best to keep me from marrying a monster.” Jaskier frowned, knowing what Calanthe was assuming. Ciri didn’t seem to realize, and that was all the better. Geralt spoke of the girl as a daughter, nothing more.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well. The young knight’s liege lord soon found out about the knight’s winnings. He sent a sorcerer to try and prove the knight had lied about the Law of Surprise. He sent others to try and capture Iseult. There’s a painting hanging in Lettenhove of Tristan leaping off of a cliff. Iseult is painted as a siren in the sea, but artistic license, I suppose.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Is that because she wasn’t human? Grandmother hated when you told me stories of the elves.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Possibly. The story continues, though. Tristan and Iseult fled into the forests of Brokilon, where they were wed. The human settlements soon became overfilled, as the Jarl of Skellige began telling wild tales of how the elves of Kerack were wild and untrustworthy. About how they turned the mind of the knight with a potion, and took over the lands that didn’t belong to them. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Soon, the knight’s parents perished in the uprisings, driving all non-humans out of Kerack. Cidaris even started taking advantage of the upheaval, seizing land and moving in. Kerack now is only a portion of the size it once was. But as the army approached Lettenhove, the knight’s brother promised Iseult to the Jarl, and sent for them all to meet. It was betrayal, of course.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He was going to betray his own brother?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>did. </span>
  </em>
  <span>However, Tristan suspected this and they hatched a plot to trick him, with one of Iseult’s cousins standing in her place. However, they didn’t expect to be attacked at night, in their beds. Tristan had been sleeping on the floor, and because of his honor, bested the Jarl’s men in the fight. However, he was murdered by the poison on the blade. Iseult’s cousin had no healing magic, and despite sending for the true Iseult, she couldn’t heal him in time. He died in his lover’s arms. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tristan’s brother was now free of his obligations, but Iseult would have no part in his plot to wed her and seize power for himself. She sends him back to the Jarl, paying the crew to sail with the black flag of failure, instead of the white flag of success. There’s a number of stories about what happens to him, but the story told in Lettenhove was the Jarl had the ship sunk before they ever reached land.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri blanched. “But it wasn’t their fault!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Some rulers are cruel, my dear. You know this as well as I do. Anyhow. Iseult was said to rule for many years, her son taking over the Vicounty and writing the treaty with the elves of Brokilon. The Pankratz family has always had close ties with the elves of Brokilon, so no one knows for certain if the tales were mythology or truth, and after the Cleansing no one risked visiting our old friends to see. The only verifiable truth of the story remains- once Iseult perished, she was buried next to Tristan. And the trees that grew from their graves grew tall and broad, branches intertwined as their love, forever more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier walked for hours, telling the story. The sun was high before he finally tugged her to stop. He pulled out a bag of dried fruits and nuts from a saddle bag before climbing up behind her. They watched the flicker of Geralt’s silver hair in the shadows of the forest trail far up ahead while they ate, plodding along on the big horse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had said it would take two days to reach the river, and as they weren’t crossing at a city they might need to swim if it was deep. He tried to encourage them to push the horse faster, frustrated with how slow the horse walked. However, Jaskier was unwilling to let him push Ciri too fast. They ambled down the trail, Jaskier often taking a few hours on foot. He told Ciri all of the old mythos he could remember. Various tales about the beginning of human settlements, the influx driving the elves out. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>After his unfortunate first meeting with Filavandrel, Jaskier had made a point to learn the oldest tales, certain that there was truth to be found that wasn’t in the most recent histories. The books may be written by the winners of wars, but he’d learned so long ago that there was no respect in making history. Still, the morning of the third day they came upon the Nimnar River. It tumbled down the mountain in a series of small waterfalls higher up, into a wide, but shallow river. Jaskier smiled, and leaned forward to whisper in Ciri’s ear. “Do you know what that looks like to me?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her face crinkled up, confused, as she turned to look at him. “A little river?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That, my darling, looks like an excellent opportunity to wash, and wash our clothes.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her entire face lit up, and as Egg splashed across the stream she leaned far over, watching the silver bodies of the fish dart away from the big horse’s hooves. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you think Geralt would catch us fish for dinner?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just ask him, sweet girl. He’s grouchy and grumbly, but you’re his Child and he’ll do anything for you.” The water was well over Egg’s knees, and he fought to dip his nose in the water as they harassed him to continue walking, laughing at his increasing annoyance at not being allowed to play in the water. As soon as they reached the pebbled riverbank, Ciri leaned back into Jaskier, swinging her leg up and over Egg’s neck, sliding down and taking off after a bemused Geralt, who was waiting at the edge of the trees. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Geralt! Can we stay a little while? Just to wash things? It’s still early, we don’t have to camp here? Would you catch fish for dinner? Please?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She was shouting as she barreled toward him, bouncing and excited, finally showing a little of the joyous, happy girl that Jaskier used to visit. He tied Egg to a tree, pulling down the saddlebags and untacking the horse as Geralt stalked up.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What are you doing.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Untacking the horse. Then I’ll let his big dumb ass roll in the water like he so desperately wanted, and wash some laundry. You know. The usual.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We don’t have time for this.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Geralt, did you miss the joy on your daughter’s face when she ran to you? Or perhaps there’s another river before we get there? Because I don’t remember running across one this close to the mountains last year.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Last </span>
  <em>
    <span>year</span>
  </em>
  <span>- what? No, Jaskier. We need to keep going.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright, Geralt. You go tell Ciri she cannot wash her clothes, her hair, or have a bath, or the fish she begged you to catch for dinner. I’ll wait right here.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop manipulating her.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Geralt hissed. “She knows we need to hurry. Why are you making this so difficult? You spend days telling her old fairytales and singing love songs, this isn’t an </span>
  <em>
    <span>adventure</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier. We aren’t out here for you to write some </span>
  <em>
    <span>ballad </span>
  </em>
  <span>to sing.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier stared at him for a few minutes before shaking his head and undoing the buckle on the cinch and tossing the saddle on the ground. He untied Egg, switching him into the soft rope halter they used to tie him at night. “If you want to leave faster, help. Do not glower over this, look at her. She’s finally smiling a real, happy smile.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Both men watched, Ciri already having pulled off her boots and rolled up her trousers. She was splashing in the cold water, laughing at the tiny fish darting around her ankles. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Wilderness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Jaskier washed all of his and Ciri's clothing from the saddlebags, sending her off a little farther downstream to bathe. "Sing a song, Julian!" He smiled at her shout, but shook his head. Geralt was already crabby, having started washing his own clothes upstream. Nothing was particularly dirty, just general dirt and sweat of travel in the late summer heat, but it'd feel good to wear clean clothes. He'd given Ciri his cleanest shirt to wear once she'd finished bathing, and focused on the task ahead of washing and wringing everything out. </p><p> </p><p>There was a terribly useful pile of rocks warmed by the sunshine between where he was washing and Ciri bathing, to afford her privacy. He tossed small pebbles over the side until she yelped. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you done yet, dear? I'd like to lay the clothes on those rocks to dry. Did you want help washing your hair, or are you alright?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh! I'm done already, I was just enjoying the sunshine. Here, your turn!" </p><p> </p><p>Ciri bounded out, Jaskier's long shirt nearly to her knees. He just smiled, and took the soaps he'd given her before going around to wash. He'd found Lambert's hair wax in the bag, tucked all the way at the bottom. He'd pulled it out when he found it but not opened it yet. Geralt could probably smell it anyway. He laid the newly washed clothing out on the rocks to dry, washing the clothes he had on and laying them out as well before setting to work on scrubbing himself. It'd been far too long since he had a shave, but he still had yet to risk trying to do it himself. He did his best not to focus on that as he washed his hair, pulling on one of the shirts Lambert left behind. It was slightly too big, but it wasn't the first time he'd borrowed the witcher's clothing in their travels together. He'd considered giving Ciri this one, as it was longer than his own, but gave her the faded old blue shirt that he'd embroidered tiny purple flowers on instead.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn't sure if the shirt smelled of Lambert anymore to a more keen nose, but it smelled like nothing but saddlebags and dust to Jaskier. He put on the driest of his damp smalls and trousers, not willing to walk around half naked. Tucking the oils and soaps back in the bags, he considered the small tub of wax before opening it up. The beeswax was soft, with just the hint of lanolin scent. It didn't smell the same as it did in Lambert's hair. Strange. He stuffed it back in the bottom of the bag, rubbing the wax off on his wrist. By the time he was done, Geralt had already given the long lead to Ciri, who stood laughing as Egg was rolling in a shallow area of the river. The horse and Ciri were soaked again. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier went back and sat on the warm rocks, watching the water tumble down the mountain, composing a poem in his head, a soft little sonnet. Geralt was farther upstream, patiently catching and tossing large fish up on the bank. Soon, Egg tired of rolling and stood, dunking his face and splashing the water around. It was well enough- the horse needed to dry so they could be off once the clothes were done else Geralt yell at him some more. He was dry enough as well he finished dressing, his boots and armor, but he left his sword by the saddlebags. </p><p> </p><p>He tied the horse up, and they set to work brushing him as he grazed, and Jaskier sung Ciri quiet little songs as the time passed, a small respite of quiet and calm before they headed back on the trail to get as close to the pass as they could before stopping for the night. It was as Geralt disappeared under the water that Ciri finally nudged him with a shoulder. "So when are you going to teach me self defense, like Yenn said?"</p><p> </p><p>"When you're dressed, if you like. Go check the clothes." Ciri bounded off, gathering  and folding all the dried clothes before finishing dressing herself. She left Jaskier's shirt on, large and billowing even with the ends tucked in and put her vest over it. It made her look all the more small and childlike. She stuffed their clothing in the saddlebag before bouncing back. They both peered over to where Geralt was, meditating in the sun, surrounded by his clothes left spread out to dry on the rocks. </p><p> </p><p>"Good enough, I suppose." He tugged Ciri over to one of the large rocks, where they sat side by side. "First, the most important thing to remember, my dear, is that no one, not anyone ever, has a right to put their hands on you. Not on your back, your shoulder, your arm, nothing. It's not 'just' a touch and it's not 'just' flattery. You're a beautiful young lady and unfortunately, some people are pigs. That's lesson one. That you don't have to say yes, to anything. Even if it's me, asking for a hug, or Geralt, offering to help you on Egg. Nothing, ever."</p><p> </p><p>Ciri nodded. "Grandmother and Eist said the same. Said to scream, and the guards would come running." </p><p> </p><p>"That's fair enough, screaming and yelling will draw attention. But you don't have guards anymore, just Geralt and I. And frankly, you saw how easily it was for me to get taken by surprise. More so now I don't have my stick. Geralt would cut down anyone and everything to get to you, but-"</p><p> </p><p>"We're trying to stay hidden. Him killing a village would draw attention."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. But my dear- if you are that afraid for yourself? Let him. We'd figure it out. You are more important, so don't hold back for fear of that sort of consequence. Did your grandmother teach you the best places to hit?"</p><p> </p><p>"Eist did, a little. Said for me to kick a man in his testicles."</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier grimaced. "Well, yes, certainly. The groin, neck, eyes, even the throat. You are smaller, and not as strong as most adults. With time and Vesemir training you, you'll be able to defend yourself, but for now. If you are in danger, fight, and fight dirty." </p><p> </p><p>"She will be properly trained at Kaer Morhen, you don't need to fill her head with that flailing nonsense you call brawling." They jumped, not having realized Geralt had finished, the fish still strung on a line that he tossed back in the cool water. "I caught dinner, so let's go." When Jaskier got up, Geralt narrowed his eyes before turning and walking back towards Egg.</p><p> </p><p>"I want to learn to do that thing where Julian had your arm pinned up. It was very neat." Geralt just grumbled, batting away the sharp end of the stick before fetching the saddle. </p><p> </p><p>Failing at gaining his attention, Ciri leaned on Jaskier's stick to watch Geralt tack up the horse. He'd already packed up his own bag, and Jaskier came over with the sword on his hip and saddlebags over a shoulder. "Don't play with that, Ciri. A broken weapon is dangerous." Jaskier and Ciri frowned at the grumbling, but said nothing. Once they were on the enormous horse, Geralt tied the string of fish on the side of the saddle, hanging far enough down not to make the saddlebags smell of fish.</p><p> </p><p>Ciri sat behind Jaskier with the stick over her shoulder, resting a tired head on his back. "Tell me a story, Julian."</p><p> </p><p>"How about a short one? Until we get to camp?" Jaskier thought for a while, watching Geralt stride ahead of them. "How about a story of a bard who saved a Queen?" They both pointedly ignored Geralt’s derisive snort. <br/><br/>“Oh, that sounds wonderful.” <br/><br/></p><p>“Many years ago, back when Rivia and Lyria were still at war, the Queen of Lyria had been kidnapped by the Rivian agents. They were holding her for ransom, trying to extort the Lyrian royal family into signing a marriage treaty, combining the two kingdoms. They had been fighting for generations. Towns were claimed back and forth, the borders shifting and the political atmosphere of the area was incredibly tense. Lyria was said by all the tales to be a land ruled by a caring, gentle hand. The queen would ensure the winter stores of her subjects, and violence and hatred were shunned. </p><p> </p><p>The ruler of Rivia was said to be a staunch, strict ruler. There was little leniency, and no welcome for the non-humans. They wanted to annex Lyria for their wealth, and the border to Aedirn. Rivia was focused on trade, and financial advantage, but blocked by the mountains their trade north was limited. So with a political marriage there was coin to be made."</p><p> </p><p>"That's a terrible reason for a wedding. A treaty could do the same."</p><p> </p><p>"Excellent point, dear heart, but how many men are willing to write a treaty to a young Queen, and keep to it? So they kidnapped her on their king's behalf. They sent the ransom, demanding concessions and a marriage. Now- the good part. The Queen had a bard in her court. A beautiful, loyal bard named Blondel. The queen and her long, blonde haired troubadour were close- she'd written her queen nearly two dozen songs. She wasn't very well known around the country, but was a favorite in the Queen’s court. </p><p> </p><p>The story goes that upon hearing the kidnapping of the queen being held in a castle, Blondel took to the countryside. She went from castle to castle, looking for her Queen. The story varies, which I'll tell you before Geralt yells at us, yes I see you glaring, turn around, keep walking. Some say that the Queen's location was well known- others say Blondel went from castle to castle, searching the countryside. What they do agree on, is the song. </p><p> </p><p>The loyal troubadour, in search of her Queen, sang a song that only she would know. When she heard her imprisoned Queen replying with the second verse, she knew her location. They worked together, the Queen escaping on the back of the horse Blondel had ridden from Lyria."</p><p> </p><p>"You know the song, don't you?" Ciri shook him excitedly, bouncing a little.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course, darling. Listen. This is what Blondel sang to her Queen. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Not a soul up ahead and nothing behind </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There's a desert in my blood and a storm in your eyes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Am I the king of nothing at all? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then you're the queen of nothing at all </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well I remember the fight and I forget the pain </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I got my hand in your pocket and my key on your chain </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Am I the king of nothing at all? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then you're the queen of nothing at all </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But the response, that the Queen sang was </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh, through the wilderness </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You and I we're walking through the emptiness </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh, my heart is a mess </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Is it the only defense against the wilderness? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cross my heart and hope to die </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Taking this one step at a time </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Got your back if you got mine </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One foot in front of the other"  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, that's terribly romantic. She saved her Queen with a song?"</p><p> </p><p>"She <em>found</em> her Queen with a song. She saved her with her <em> loyalty. </em>Bards are so often underestimated and ignored, it was a fairly simple thing for her to simply walk into the house. No one pays attention to the idiot with the instrument, and Blondel had the added bonus of being beautiful. No one questioned her as she walked in, and then they snuck back out that night. Who minds a bard and their companion for the night?" <br/><br/>Ciri hummed at this, quiet as the sun dipped below the trees.</p><p><br/>The sky was quickly darkening when they finally started looking for a campsite, having pushed the day as long as they could have. The campsite they found was a long, narrow clearing that butted up to a sharp ascent up the mountainside. Geralt had the fish on to roast before Jaskier even finished setting up the campsite, picketing Egg in the farthest corner. With a belly full of fish and tea, Ciri fell asleep as soon as she curled up on her bedroll, leaving Jaskier and Geralt quiet, watching the fire slowly burn down. </p><p> </p><p>“We’ll be in Mirt by tomorrow afternoon.” Geralt grumbled, startling Jaskier out of quiet contemplation. <br/><br/>“Are you still going to let her stay the night?” <br/><br/>“I’ll camp,” Geralt finally grumbled. “You. Pick up supplies. I’ll stay close, listen for trouble.” <br/><br/>“Thank you for trusting me.” Geralt narrowed his eyes at Jaskier, but rolled over and turned his back to him with a grunt. “Goodnight, Geralt.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry this took awhile. :) School starting, bleh. &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Crowd on the verge of a mob. Details at the bottom.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lambert sat on a log on the side of the road. Thistle and Scorpion grazed as Eskel sat at his feet, back resting between Lambert's legs. The ride hadn't been hard so far. They knew they were getting close as the dense forest had cleared away into rolling fields and farms that littered this part of Aedirn.  They had only a few hours riding left to reach the small town. They traveled down the main cart path as the point of this whole adventure was to encourage the idea they were headed south for normal contracts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This meant that they didn't hide in the depth of the forest to eat the meat pies and rest Lambert's leg. Instead they sat quietly, watching the slow traffic of the path go by. The wait wound up Lambert's stress higher, except that Eskel had managed to hide a few wineskins in his saddlebags.  They passed one back and forth as they ate the cheese and pies he'd bought for their dinner. There was no telling what welcome they'd receive in the small town ahead, so it was always wise to pack supplies from where you knew you were welcomed and the food wouldn't be spat in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, Eskel's planning ahead worked in their favor. They hadn't arrived in town until the night had just begun to cool. Lambert managed to get the horses stabled easily, but Eskel met resistance trying to arrange a room for the night until Lambert stomped in. The combination of two imposing witchers seemed to work. Especially when Eskel shrugged, leaning on the bar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Innkeep says there's no room for us. That we're welcome to sleep in the hay loft."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert snarled. "Fine, we've got other places to be. I'll get the horses, they can deal with the noonwraith themselves."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The innkeep paled, fumbling a key to Eskel. He blabbered on about the crops needing to be harvested soon, but he was roundly ignored by both, who just stomped up the stairs to yet another too small room, with one too small bed. It was a quiet night, but it didn't bother either of them, who dumped their gear in the ordered precision that spoke of years of practice and familiarity. A quick check of Lambert's stitches and a change of bandages and they were ready for bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eskel flopped on the bed first before Lambert shoved him over. His wide shoulders took up most of the bed and at first Eskel resisted, relaxing his body into dead weight that sunk down into the mattress. Lambert growled, and shoved his fingers into the soft space between his brother's ribs, his face cracking into a grin before snatching Lambert down by an arm, and forcibly shoving him into the space beside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, you grumpy fucking asshole you need a hug, may as well accept it now." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert gave a token resistance, digging his fingers into Eskel's ribs, but the large witcher simply raised an eyebrow. With an annoyed huff, Lambert finally relented. Eskel relaxed from a crushing hold to a soft hug. Lambert growled, but Eskel just shifted, wrapping both arms around Lambert in a firm hug, his chin resting on the top of his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tomorrow, we'll head east. Then work north from there as we can. We'll pack up supplies from here tomorrow, make like we're heading down to Sodden. Talk about all the necrophages that are good for contracts." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert grunted, but just curled into his brother's side. It wasn't often that he would curl up like this with Eskel, but with his soft, welcoming nature he had always been known to be good for hugs. The breadth of his body and the long reach of his arms were always soothing and comforting, and the soft rumble of his voice could be guaranteed to calm even the most anxious. So Lambert just settled into sleep, the warm press of a body beside his own a comfort. It was both familiar and strange, too warm and too hard, as he tumbled into a dreamless sleep.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--------------</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning Eskel found Lambert glued to his back like a limpet. He carefully slid himself free, shoving the pillow in Lambert's arms as he escaped, but froze at the soft "Jules?" mumbled. Lambert's brow creased, before sleepy eyes peered up at Eskel and grumbled. The stress and anxiety of the previous day had him wound nearly as tight as they'd usually see in the deepest part of winter. When the snow piled high enough that the world was bright and silent, the bitter cold creeping even into the warmest depths of the castle, Lambert would pace and snap and snarl. Eskel had come across him once, decades ago, staring out at the deep snow that made the mountain insurmountable. He'd wrapped his littlest brother in a heavy, smothering hug, and they stayed. He'd only just found out what his brother had been missing last winter, thanks to Jaskier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a rare comfort on the road to sleep in, relaxed and burrowed under blankets, knowing there was another nearby capable of defending your back. So Eskel stayed, quiet, pulling out a smaller potion bag to handle the noonwraith contract. By the time they would be ready to leave today Lambert's stitches should be able to come out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for Lambert to stretch obnoxiously, shoving Eskel half heartedly with a foot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I take it you're leaving me behind for the contract. I get to be shopping bitch again."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A noonwraith isn't a hard contract, and you know it. I'll handle it, may as well let your stitches heal. Maybe we can travel a little faster for it." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah, fuck off. Fine." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The late morning start had them moving efficiently- Eskel needed to talk to the contractor, hopefully find something that belonged to the dead woman, and get to the site on time or they'd have to stay another day. Lambert gave him the meager information he'd been given as they ate, already planning himself what supplies he'd be able to haggle for at the market. They really only needed food. They planned to head north fast, and fast meant avoiding towns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lambert made his way to the market early, doing his best to stretch the coin they had while filling the saddlebags to the brim. The market was borderline hostile, but a few well placed stories of Eskel and Lambert heading south to help clean up the necrophages that always terrorized the common folk after war had the merchants eager to provide enough foodstuff to make the witchers leave. They may not have liked him, but the stories of towns razed only to be overrun by monsters were tales told continent-wide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the shopping done, Lambert started the laundry. Eskel had left out a small pile of his own laundry, with the promise that it'd be his turn to do the laundry the next time. It didn't take long, and was hung out in the hot sun behind the inn as Lambert dozed. The sun was high, and Eskel would soon be fighting the wraith. It was as good a time as any for a nap, as the clothes snapped and fluttered in the sunshine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He woke to the unpleasant buzz, the murmur of a town unhappy and the raised voices that lead to violence on the air. He gathered up their clothes, ran upstairs and packed quickly. He had stayed alive for this long by knowing when to bug out of town before a mob set their eyes on him, but he wasn't alone. And Eskel wasn't back yet. Scorpion was still in the stable, so he saddled them both. The town was nearly empty, but as Lambert followed the thick musk of rage and violence, soon the scent of torches joined in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sharp scent of burning oil drove Lambert into a panic, kicking Thistle into a canter, with Scorpion gamely following along. He stood in the stirrups, seeing the crowd milling around in the fields at the edge of town. The voices grew louder as he approached, and he could see Eskel in the middle of the crowd, hands up, attempting to placate the crowd but Lambert couldn’t hear what he was saying. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Everything was loud and buzzing and the torches sparked and cracked in the dying afternoon light. This was a crowd on the edge of a mob, and Lambert didn’t know who was their target. Most often, it’d be them. But Lambert finally caught Eskel’s eye, and his brother waved him back, the tilt of his head telling him to stop horses farther back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eskel’s body language stayed conciliatory, but the rumble of the crowd had Lambert’s fingers twitching to draw his swords. He twisted the reins around his fingers, gathering Thistle in tight. The mare was feeding off his stress and emotions, twitching her tail, weight balanced on her back legs. She didn’t move but for the slight dance of her front hooves, even getting Scorpion agitated. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eskel moved his fingers slightly, and Lambert followed his point, and just as the first rock left the mob leader’s hand, Lambert flung an Aard at the crowd as Eskel’s shimmer of Quen bounced the rocks back. Thistle reared the moment Lambert’s hand left the reins, bolting around the crowd, most of whom were only thrown off balance. The point wasn’t to knock them flying, simply give Eskel the time and opening to escape. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>As Thistle took off, Eskel whistled sharply, tearing through the crowd, shoving one particularly angry farmer with a pitchfork down and vaulting over his back. He snatched the pommel, swinging himself into the saddle even as Scorpion took off. Both horses thundered south, headed out of town, veering east into the fields once the sight and sounds of the town was well behind them. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The horses were blowing hard by the time they slowed to a stop, Thistle still chomping at the bit, gait choppy and nervous. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened?” Lambert twisted in the saddle, no less agitated than his horse. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eskels wry smile waved him off. “Yes, Lambert, the contract’s complete. Paid and everything. Problem was when I told the alderman about the bride’s necklace being burned. Apparently there was,” he hesitated, frowning, “ there was a history of abuse and infidelity. They weren’t after me, but I was trying to discourage them from burning her murderer alive. We’ll be back soon for another wraith, probably.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert shuddered. His brother standing in the middle of a crowd of angry townsfolk, surrounded by lit torches, pitchforks and the heavy stink of violence and rage was not a good moment. He scrubbed his hand over his face. At least this time no one was hurt. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He tipped his head back, eyes closed, letting Thistle follow Scorpion for a while, before a strong grip on his arm made him tip his head, looking up at Eskel. The worry pulled at his scars, making the frown more severe. He just shook his head. He’d be fine. No one got hurt. Julian was fine, hopefully miles and miles north. By now they should be nearing Ard Carraigh. Fuck. No, they’re on the other side of the mountain. He thought, wondering if they’d reached the mountain pass yet. The sudden thought of Julian’s silhouette over the outcropping, the deep valley falling away below him, blue eye bright, scarring still bright and sensitive. The sky was the same color that day that it is now, bright pinks and blues over the trees. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It could’ve happened again. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They rode hard, Lambert grateful for his purchasing excesses.  He’d planned the small sack of meat pies for tomorrow, and dinner in the inn before they left. They were a little mashed from the frantic packing, but still tasted just as good. Eskel drove them in a wide circle around the town and outlying farms, but still steadily heading northeast. They didn’t stop until the deep dark of the forest made it too risky to push the horses on, and they didn’t bother with a fire. The horses were tied out, and Eskel dragged Lambert’s bedroll next to his own again. </span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Lambert didn’t even bother complaining at the presumption, his hands still shaking slightly at the memories. Eskel said nothing, letting Lambert press himself in close. He wrapped his arms around his brother, shushing him through the nightmares that woke them both in the darkest night. Neither said anything, but Eskel kept one heavy arm around him, pressing him against his chest as he shook. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Crowd is angry, and after the murderer of a woman. They are <i>not</i> after our boys, but Eskel is very much caught in the crossfire. The boys are unharmed, physically.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Mirt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Just as Geralt said, they reached Mirt in the early afternoon. Jaskier had been walking beside Egg, a hand on Ciri’s ankle. The story for the morning was an old tale from Nilfgaard, a fairy story meant to frighten small children. Scholars had been arguing the historical accuracy of the description of the villain in the story, which Geralt grumbled at. It wasn’t Oxenfurt’s fault they’d never seen a Leshen, and were unable to tell the difference in the types. Geralt, of course, had taken it as a slight against witchers when the story itself was yet another morality tale on the wild otherness. The moral was vague, but most believed it was a condemnation against unnecessary violence against the natural world. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt stopped them far enough back that he would still be unseen by anyone in the town before speaking quietly. “Don’t draw attention to yourselves,  I’ll stay close enough to hear if you yell. There’s a path that heads north out of town, I’ll meet you along it tomorrow.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Geralt, should you take Egg?” Jaskier asked, quietly. “He’s a pretty enormous horse for just us, with no obvious income source.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt eyed them both, before nodding. Ciri slid down while Jaskier unbuckled the one side of the saddlebags that contained all of his and Ciri’s clothing. He rummaged through it, making sure it had everything they needed for the night. Then he took out the large pack that he and Lambert used for extra supplies and tossed it to Ciri to wear on her back.  After a moment, he tied his broken staff to the side of the saddle. It wouldn’t be useful in town, and he had his sword in an emergency. After patting Egg, they stepped back. Geralt strode west into the deeper parts of the woods, Egg ambling along behind him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri eyed Jaskier as he watched Geralt leave. “Are you going to tie your hair back again?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier thought for a moment. “I should. I think I left the strap we used in this bag.” He dug around deep in the bag when his fingers brushed on the tin of Lambert’s hair wax. He pulled it out, handing it to Ciri who immediately opened it to sniff. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, this will work better, come here. We used something similar when we had to put our hair up all fancy, it kept it looking neat.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri worked a small soft lump through her fingers as Jaskier put the tin back in the very bottom of the bag. He squatted down in front her, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He didn’t very much enjoy the idea of being on display, but it was an effective way to shift focus off of them both. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling it back up and away from his face, carding the excess through the rest of his hair. Finished, she cupped his face with her hands. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There you look very handsome, Julian. You’d look more like you used to without the beard, but it does look nice on you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier’s face twisted into a wry smile. He’ll have to let Ciri do his hair again later for Lambert to see. He teased the witcher enough about fastidiously keeping his hair back out of his face. Watching it hang in his eyes as he climbed up out of the surf was a delight, changing his whole face from the severe and imposing smirk to suddenly younger and mischievous. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>With that situated, they headed down into Mirt. They easily found a room  with two beds and a small fireplace at the far back corner of the inn. Once they’d arranged the room and left the bag of their belongings behind, they headed out to the market. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything specifically you need, little one?” Jaskier nudged her shoulder as they walked through the market. She gave him the empty bag to carry as they perused the stalls. They ended up purchasing a selection of better winter clothes for her, including a warm wool lined vest, and heavy socks. Jaskier’s heavy winter cloak was in the saddlebags, but he purchased warmer socks and warm scarf anyway. It wasn’t until they found a small bookshop that Jaskier got excited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He all but dragged Ciri in, picking through the selection. The pouch of coin Lambert had left him was still very heavy- they hadn’t been spending very much at all and he haggled dearly for every coin spent. But this was luxury he would allow. He had no idea what the library at Kaer Morhen had for history- it was large and he hadn’t had the time or mental energy to dedicate to rifling through it the previous winter. When he saw the beautifully bound book of stars and constellations, he snatched it up. He piled on a lovely book of songs of the continent, with drum notations and chords. They put a dent in the small coin bag that Jaskier kept in his vest, but not a very large one. Even as he counted out the coins, Jaskier fretted, wondering how Lambert had managed to squirrel away this much coin without him noticing. How would he manage on the ride north without it? Even as he tucked the books and a cheap quill and inkpot in his bag, he thought back trying to remember how much Lambert had tossed in his own bag before he’d left. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Unless Geralt was right. He could have met up with Eskel just to give him the news, and continued on his Path. He frowned, letting Ciri pull him along the marketplace. He bought her a new winter hat, a pale blue knit monstrosity. Lambert said he’d follow. So he squeezed Ciri’s hand as she led him through the shops, and just tried to remember. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He said he’d follow. He said he was an asshole, not a liar. He’ll follow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The market in Mirt wasn’t terribly large, but they filled the bag with vegetables and oats, dried beans and dried fruit. A bag full of bread and rolls under their arm, and the day had been wasted just exploring the tiny town and all the shops. They peered at buttons and wool, admired the handiwork at the blacksmith, and even stopped to admire a wagon that had woven branch furniture, a beautiful rocking chair, a selection of small carved toys. Ciri admired a little howling wolf carved out of a pale wood, so Jaskier bought it for her. He even bought her a pretty little moon shaped comb for her hair. They were nearly to Kaedwen anyway, and Lambert would have been amused by the purchases. He fingered a small flower pin at the silversmith’s shop. It was a little silver buttercup pin, smaller than his thumbnail. It only took a moment’s decision before purchasing that and tucking it into the inside pocket of his vest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was in the middle of haggling for a bag of apples when Ciri’s stomach grumbled, making them both laugh. The farmer gave a wry laugh and waved them off, insisting that if the boy was that hungry, he’d let them have it for lower price. Ciri thanked him, face scarlet, and they made a quick escape back to their room at the inn.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Spreading out their haul it was pretty clear that Geralt needed to meet them sooner rather than later tomorrow. Jaskier did his best to balance the weight between the bags. He sent Ciri downstairs to order food and a bath brought to their room, and he dug through their clothing to figure out what needed washing. It wasn’t much, and with a few extra coins he managed to get a washbasin as well. They ate first, Ciri red faced and nervous until Jaskier realized the problem.  The room had no privacy screen. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Darling, I can leave the room if it makes you feel better. I had planned to just keep my back to you, and wash our clothes, but whichever you prefer is fine.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, that’s a good idea. Thank you. Will you braid my hair after?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Of course, just let me know when you’re done. I’ll go get started washing.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier pushed his bowl away, nearly knocking over his ale in the process, making them both jump, but Ciri caught it with a smile. She’d seen his troubles with depth perception enough times that she knew it wasn’t intentional. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It took a bit of effort, and his pants got wet for it, but Jaskier shoved the basin closer to the corner of the room, to give Ciri as much room as possible. He was nearly done with the wash when she called to him. “Julian, I can finish the last things while you wash too, if you like?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He hadn’t intended to, meaning the bath a treat for the young girl after so long on the road with cold baths, but the scrubbing of most of their laundry, including their heavier trousers, was sweaty work. He scrubbed his face and nodded. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That does sound good, thank you. There’s just the one shirt left, and what we’re wearing.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ll do my best.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier washed quickly, and pulled on his pale pink shirt. It was one of his favorites, looking the nicest with his leather armor. The only one he liked better was Lambert’s large black shirt, the arms slimmer than his own, meant to fit under the long sleeves of his armor. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But that shirt was dirty, and now he’d washed all the wax back out of his hair. He sighed, carrying over his dirty clothes before nudging a very focused but not terribly efficient Ciri over. He showed her with his own clothes a little better way to wash, the quiet work side by side calming. Soon the room was draped with damp clothing, their heaviest trousers hung nearest to the fireplace.  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It didn’t take much prodding before Ciri laid down in the small bed closest to the fire, and curled under the blankets. “Tell me a story, Julian?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He sat cross legged on his own bed, his sword belt in his lap, tracing the pretty tooled pattern on the scabbard. It almost matched the tooling on the vest, and he wondered if that was why Lambert chose it. It was delicate and pretty, and looked useless, no matter how Lambert had assured him the blade was good quality. Vesemir would even approve of it, he claimed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He hummed. “Alright, little sparrow. I think I have one. This one is written by an old friend of mine. It’s quite a popular poem now.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What was their name?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Chrétien. Now, listen, dear heart. Once upon a time, Princess Lena of Gors Velen was abducted by a neighboring kingdom. At the time, an old Witcher named Ealdred had been there completing a contract. He heads out following them- in secret, of course. He doesn’t want to be known to meddle in the kingdom’s politics. But on his way after the princess and her abductors he runs into another witcher from his school- named George. When George finds out what Ealdred is up to, he begs to take his mentor’s horse. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Of course, Ealdred gives him the horse, and George takes off, following the trail of the Princess. By the time Ealdred catches up on foot, George had run into a dwarf. The dwarf knew exactly where they were taking Princess Lena, and promised to take him there on one condition. George had to pull the dwarf’s cart, hooked up like an animal.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh that’s cruel! People already treat them like animals.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That was exactly it, my darling. He was being humiliated </span>
  <em>
    <span>on purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ealdred took his horse back since George wasn’t using it, but watching him submit himself to derision and mockery town after town was too much. Ealdred left, to search for the princess on his own. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>George ends up suffering through many trials. He’s blackmailed and forced into contracts and battles, finally ending up captured and imprisoned. The princess, of course, is sent home. He’s kept for nearly a year, and one day forced into a tournament. The princess was there, and tells him if he loves her, he’ll lose. Now, George was known as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dragonslayer. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Even amongst witchers, he was fast and clever and very, very good at his job. But he does it. He loses. She comes to him, bleeding and staggering, and then she demands he </span>
  <em>
    <span>win. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And of course, he does. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>This angered the royalty, of course, who have him imprisoned for the audacity of winning against their best knights. For all he’s done for this princess, killing men, fighting battles, trolls, feats of strength, allowing himself imprisoned, he finds out that  Princess Lena doesn’t return his love. The poem by Chrétien is often taught as a love story, claiming the dedication of George's love as something to aspire to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But on my lone travels, I met a Griffin Witcher. What else do you do with this opportunity? He was friendly and kind. Geralt might know him, his name was Coen. He had a big beard, but a bald head. It was charming! He was welcoming of the company so of course I asked him about the story. There was no telling where Chrétien got the story from- but it was true enough. George was known as the Dragonslayer. A legend, his likeness painted on the walls of their keep. His life was taught as a warning to young witchers not to rely on the kindness of humanity, which is fair. It's also a warning that more should listen to- if you have to bend and break yourself for years for love... it's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s an easy mistake to make, my darling. Even the best of us forget.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----------------</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>They woke up late the next morning. Well, Geralt would have considered it late. Jaskier glanced around, taking stock of the distinct lack of great white grumps. He shouldn’t be too mad over their tardiness. So after taking care of morning business, Jaskier set about quietly gathering and folding their clothes, organizing the bags. He redid them so he carried most of the weight, something he’d hoped to do before Ciri woke. She would have complained if she noticed, wanting to participate and carry her own way as best she could. She was growing fast- nearly to his shoulders now, and needed far more rest and food than they could currently provide her with on the trail. He shook his head, determined not to worry about impossibilities. Kaer Morhen. She’d be safe and fed there. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He already had his armor and sword on, double checking like always that the coin pouch was in the inside pocket, down to just over half of what Lambert had given him. The xenovox in another pocket, and the small silver pin in a third. All that was left was food for them both, and Ciri doing his hair again. So he sat, scratching in the small blue journal Lambert had given him. It was lovely, and he’d hidden it in the bottom of his pack, wrapped up with the flower crown. Both items had been wrapped in one of Lambert’s shirts, but as he’d taken to wearing them lately he wrapped them instead in one of his pairs of trousers. He fiddled with the sleeve of his pink shirt, wondering if Lambert would be bothered by him borrowing his clothes and hair wax. Probably not. Maybe. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Unless Geralt was right. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was no way of knowing that for now, though. Either Lambert would be at Kaer Morhen when he got there, or not. They would be taking the shorter route, he thought. It seemed so much faster to get to the Pontar when they’d left through Kaedwen, but Jaskier wasn’t familiar enough with the path to know for sure. And asking Geralt just didn’t seem wise. Geralt </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> said that was the faster route, however.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So he wrote slowly, carefully, trying to remember the tiny sonnet he’d written at the waterfall. The words didn’t come back as easily as they once would have, so he sketched a little image of the waterfalls down the side of the page. First, a loose form of Egg and a detailed Ciri, laughing. He drew her as she’d gotten dressed later, instead of just in the long shirt that she had been in. She was in Jaskier’s big, billowing shirt, covered by the long vest. The thin trouser legs made her look lean and tall, and her tall boots like the young man most people assumed she was. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He jumped, a drip of ink dotting in the middle of the page when Ciri spoke from beside him. “You’re very good at that. I didn’t know you could draw.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cirilla.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hissed, irritated at the fright and how he’d totally disregarded their surroundings enough that she had apparently not only woken, but dressed and had been watching him before he noticed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh! I’m sorry. Can we go get breakfast, before we go? The sun is pretty high, will Geralt be angry at us?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He scrubbed his hands over his face, willing the frustration he felt at himself away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, no. I’m sorry. And yes, we’ll eat. Maybe buy something to take with us. And don’t worry about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If he’s angry at anyone, it’ll be me, and I’m quite used to it.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I don’t think he is as angry as he sounds, sometimes. He’s very bad at looking angry but being worried. He used to tell me of your adventures with him, over the winter when we were hiding. He is very bad at storytelling, but every time, he was worried about you.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ciri-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, really, don’t give me that look. Do give me that wax though, I liked doing your hair. Can I do it more often?” Jaskier gave a noncommittal shrug, and she narrowed her eyes at him, but apparently decided that it wasn’t the time to press. “Listen. He used to tell me these stories, about brigands or how it was hard to fight some monster because he was so busy listening for you. Any story he told me of you, it was him worried about you being safe. I think maybe he’s just very bad at showing it. He even looked angry when he gave me a hug and told me he was sorry.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier choked on air, blinking and waving her away. “He apologized? For what?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“For not being there. For ignoring destiny. He said it made me suffer and he was sorry.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier just sat, stunned. Apparently, Geralt </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> use his words, but only to young girls in deep winter months. He wondered if Yennefer had anything to do with that, but didn’t ask. He just took the wax and shoved it back down into the very bottom of the saddlebag, and shifted it onto his shoulder. “Well, let’s get moving. Food and then on the trail. Leaving now will be kind enough to give them extra time to empty these tubs, too.”</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Luxation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry this one took so long. It's a bit of a beast. </p><p>More TAD lyrics ahoy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Injury, details at end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Breakfast was a fine meal of eggs and sausage, soft rolls and jams. It was filling and sweet and good, and Jaskier pretended not to notice when the cook snuck a few sweet rolls in the packet of lunch that they’d purchased. He’d requested enough for a couple days, cured meats, hard bread and cheese. There were even small pumpkin tarts included. Enough for the two of them for two days would mean there’d be plenty for the three of them for dinner tonight, which would probably cheer Geralt up. No hunting and cooking required, they could walk that much farther towards the mountain pass tonight. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ciri was a little sleepy from the sheer amount of food the sweet cook had foisted upon the “growing lad”, and Jaskier had slipped her a few extra coins for all of her kindness. It net him a kiss on the cheek from the comely woman, which startled him greatly. He hadn’t been flirted with so obviously since before meeting Lambert. No one had seen past his face in a long time and he flushed scarlet as she whispered, a soft hand trailing down his arm, asking if he really was in such a hurry they couldn’t tarry a little longer. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stumbled and blushed a kind refusal, kissing her hand and making excuses about heading east to Poviss, and dragged Ciri out of the inn. The rotten child had the gall to laugh at him as he tucked a hand in her right elbow, nearly dragging her along but for her delighted skipping alongside. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They ended up walking for nearly an hour before Geralt appeared on the trail ahead, looking bored, Egg beside him placidly waiting. The witcher took the bags, reattaching the saddlebag and tying Ciri’s pack on one side and the bag of apples and bread on the other. It was haphazard, but it would work until things could be rearranged later. Jaskier was still discomfited as they walked. Ciri rode Egg, but kept glancing back at him. He was lost in thought for hours, trailing behind when he finally stumbled. Ciri pulled Egg to a stop. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on, Julian, you’ve been walking a lot lately. Come ride with me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She shifted forward in the saddle as he came over, leaning over slightly for him to swing himself up when he froze, standing in the stirrup. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Julian?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He shook himself, settling behind her. He put his fingers on her elbows, “Cirilla, can I hug you?” She pressed her back into his chest and he wrapped himself around her. Mirt was hours behind them, the sun high. Usually by now he would be feeding Ciri something to keep the growing girl strong. His face buried in her hair, Jaskier spoke.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Geralt, where is my staff?” In his arms, Ciri stiffened. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The witcher just grunted. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt why is his staff not here?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ciri’s voice was high and angry. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“A broken weapon is a dangerous weapon. I kept the wrappings, they’re in the bag. Useful for when you get a new one.”</span>
</p><p><span><br/>
</span><span>Ciri was near vibrating with rage, she could </span><em><span>feel</span></em><span> the tears on the back of her neck. One of the first things she’d been taught was to never touch her tutor’s cane. It was the height of disrespect, as he’d needed it to walk through the castle. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Geralt, how long would it take you to go back for it.” </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“We’re not going back.” </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Not we. You. You got rid of something that wasn’t yours, Geralt. Something he still needs.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“I’m not fetching a broken stick for you to jab me with, Cirilla, leave it.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Geralt if you do not find something to replace it I am no longer going to speak to you until you do.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Don’t be a child, Cirilla.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Ciri-” Jaskier’s voice was soft and cracked slightly, but she just shushed him and rubbed his arm. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“No, Julian. Won’t you need it for the mountain? You said it was steep.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Geralt scowled. The bard hadn’t used the staff for walking nearly at all. The only use it’d gotten lately was threatening </span><em><span>him</span></em><span>. The horse would be fine walking through the pass, probably. It’d been quite a long time since he traveled this pass but Roach hadn’t had any issues. Nevertheless, he strode farther ahead, leaving behind the heavy sharp and salty scent of Ciri’s anger. Life on the Path is not the same as in court, and sulking wouldn’t get the princess whatever she wanted. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>She refused to speak to him the rest of the day, shoving the reins at him as soon as they stopped for the night. She bullied Jaskier away, the bard quiet and placid as she dragged him off. He watched them trample through the trees, and whatever they were getting up to Jaskier hadn’t let her drag him very far. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>He did his best not to listen, focusing on brushing the big horse, double checking his shoes and teeth. The horse had maybe another year on the path, and if surefooted on the mountain would be better off left for Vesemir to use to haul supplies as he was so much stronger than the old witcher’s gelding. It was sweet tempered, but lazy. So he just fed the big beast an apple and waited. They didn’t come back for two hours, Jaskier smiling softly at the delighted girl, who bounced ahead of him, tugging him back through the trees to the campsite Geralt had spent the time setting up, and the stew he had prepared. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Without even looking his way, Ciri dragged her bedroll around the fire, placing herself again between him and Jaskier. Traveling with Ciri for months now meant it had been a long time since he’d had to deal with being ignored to this degree and it grated on him. He watched them eat, and Jaskier’s eyes stayed downcast as Ciri brought him food. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>The next morning, Ciri begged Jaskier into letting her do his hair, and they set off again without any conversation. The day was long and frustrating, the silence of the pair on the horse oppressive for the sheer fact that they were silent </span><em><span>because of him. </span></em><span>It grated and dragged on, but when Ciri’s stomach rumbled prompting them to stop for lunch he didn’t complain. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>The silence followed them all day, when they made camp in the foothills of the mountain pass. He dragged himself into the forest to see what he could forage to avoid using their dried foods for one more night, and find more firewood. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span><br/>
</span><span>Ciri bounded up to Jaskier after Geralt disappeared into the forest, watching him leave before stuffing a hand in the bard’s face. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Again, Julian. You promised, when he’s not around to yell at us. Show me again.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>He smiled softly, leveraging himself up. He turned Ciri around with a finger, as she grabbed at him gently. He moved slowly, so she could follow the grab and twist. They spoke little, soft praises from the bard and a gentle hand correcting her movements. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Most of what Vesemir taught him over winter was just escape and evade. The idea was to create distance to either have room for his staff, or hopefully back up in the form of the witcher who followed him through towns and markets with swagger and a smile. Jaskier was proud at how quickly the princess was picking up the movements- though Geralt had been working with her with swordwork she had a better background for it than he did. They were so focused on their work neither one noticed Geralt watching until he twisted out of a shoulder grab, startling when he found himself staring at his unimpressed face. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“She needs to move the elbow higher.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Jaskier sighed, waving him forward. He gently grabbed Ciri’s shoulder, Geralt watching as she moved through the movement, trapping and twisting Jaskier’s arm, and the witcher frowned, adjusting her hands slightly, drastically increasing the amount of pressure on his joints. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as Ciri let go, frowning. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Again, Ciri. But this time, press up from where I showed you.” Ciri looked over her shoulder at Jaskier, who just reached out to grab her shoulder, and followed through. They went through again slowly, before Geralt motioned with his hand, pushing Ciri’s hand up farther, to the limit of Jaskier’s tolerance. “You need to get the elbow up to at least here.”  Geralt grabbed her gently, as she twisted and forced his hand off of her. “Good. Now, try full speed. Elbow up.” </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Ciri was getting irritated at Geralt’s interference, baring her teeth at him. Jaskier touched her arm gently waiting for her to nod fiercely before grabbing her far less delicately than usual. It was still far less aggressive than what she was learning to defend herself against, but she was a quick learner, and stronger than Geralt realized. It was a smooth and limber twist and turn, Geralt’s hand flashing out to tap the bottom of her hand to remind her to raise it higher. The movement made Jaskier flinch and Ciri jerked her arm upward with a snarl when the slick pop and gasp made everything come crashing to a stop. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>The color drained out of Ciri’s face. This was </span><em><span>exactly </span></em><span>what he had been trying to be careful of,  why they’d been going so gently and softly to start with. Her hands fluttered around Jaskier, who had dropped to his knees, breathing raggedly through clenched teeth, glaring at Geralt. The witcher stood still, eyes wide. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><em><span>“Fuck.” </span></em><span>Jaskier hissed through his teeth, glaring viciously at the witcher. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Geralt reached out, but paused. “That’s dislocated, it needs to be put back quickly. I don’t think Ciri can be talked through it, but I can fix it. Lay down.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Ciri guided Jaskier down on his back, the sharp sparks of pain movement caused Jaskier to gasp raggedly, tears tracking down his face. Geralt slipped his hand in Jaskier’s, the gentlest touch that Jaskier could ever remember getting from the man, his other hand supporting the weight of his arm, gently straightening it down beside him before raising it slowly. Ciri pressed gently down his chest, Jaskier’s free hand wrapped in the side of her shirt as his chest heaved through the pain and stress. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Breathe.” And then Geralt was lifting, shifting and slightly turning his arm, the bright pain suddenly a deep throb as the joint popped back in place easily. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>He folded the arm gently back up to his chest. “Ciri, what bandages are there in the saddlebags?” </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Medical kit. Left side. Under food.” Jaskier was out of breath, sore and his head spun, but Ciri returned with the small bag Lambert had insisted on purchasing so long ago. Geralt picked through it before helping Jaskier sit up, wrapping his arm tightly in a sling. He sniffed the potions carefully before handing one to Jaskier. “Half now.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>The bard rolled his eyes, but waited for Ciri to uncork it. He put the corked bottle in a pocket of his vest after, as Geralt poked through the bag. He found the small sheet of paper Lambert had written, describing the use and dosage of each potion. His brother’s handwriting was unmistakable, and the paper was old and beat up. Geralt wanted to ask, and it must have been written on his face but Jaskier just shook his head and looked away. </span><span><br/>
</span><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Fuck.</span></em><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>He’s going to have to stay in that sling for weeks. And now the bard was exhausted, his face pale and sweaty, eyes still damp. Ciri was already pulling out their bedrolls, and Jaskier allowed them both to guide him to his bed roll. It was a hard, quiet night. Ciri cried herself to sleep, curled into Jaskier’s left side, after stuffing her blanket under his right arm to sleep more easily. Geralt just knelt, meditating until dawn. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Early the next morning he saddled the horse quietly and fixed a pot of oats before Jaskier and Ciri woke up. The bard was quiet even though Ciri tried to coax more stories out of him, but he just shook his head and murmured softly. It wasn’t until the treeline had started thinning drastically as they headed up the foothills between the mountain did he make up his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, stopping. It was clear Ciri was not going to back down from ignoring him, and it would take at least three more days to get over this mountain. So he caught her eye, watching as she lifted her chin in challenge. “Follow the trail.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And he disappeared behind them, off to find another goddamn stick for the bard who was so angry he flinched anytime Geralt wasn’t directly in front of him or came near him. He didn’t remember the bard being such a restless sleeper, either, but he’d been twitchy and restless the past two weeks. It annoyed him, but that always could be his frustration at Ciri’s preference to curl up near Jaskier each night. The child hissed like a wildcat, keeping herself between Jaskier and Geralt without breaking her declaration that she wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>speak. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>So here he was, looking for a damn stick for a bard who didn’t need one. The sword was better defense. He wouldn’t be able to use the stick for defense right now with one arm restrained. It took a few hours, and he ended up finding one fairly similar to what he had, though not balanced. He took off in a long loping jog, finding Jaskier and Ciri on foot, much farther up the trail than he expected. They hadn’t heard him approaching yet. Jaskier was telling Ciri about a cave up in the pass, and Lambert dragging out a huge mountain lion. Jaskier stumbled often, slipping on the shale and rocks, but refused to slow down. Ciri was leading Egg, who was faring no better than the bard. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The third time he saw Jaskier slip and a knee hit the ground, he lengthened his stride, slipping around past Ciri to catch Jaskier as he slipped again. He caught him easily, one strong hand pulling the bard back up by his waist, but the panic scent spiked and Jaskier twisted and flailed away, landing on his ass, scrambling away before he realized it was Geralt. At the same moment, Ciri was pounding on his back with a small fist. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know better! Geralt that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier was breathing hard, his eyes slightly glassy, so Geralt just held out the makeshift staff, letting the bard take it with a shaking hand. If they moved fast, they could be at the cave before nightfall. They’d made great time so far, much faster than Geralt had thought. So he strode off ahead, leaving them to the path up as he went to ensure the cave was cleared out. It was still the middle of summer but the breeze at the top of the pass was cool, and would only get colder at night. So he watched and picked up what fallen wood he could see on the path up, amassing a decent armful by the time he reached the cave. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The cave was empty, but wasn’t guaranteed to stay that way. The fire pit near the front of the cave was tucked up against a small divot in the cave wall, clearly a regular stopping place. Geralt built a fire, kicking rocks and twigs away before going to find enough wood to last the night. Even curled up together at this height, both Ciri and Jaskier would be cold overnight. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It didn’t take long, and when he was finished he went back to the path, seeing Jaskier and Ciri just cresting the path, both sweaty and drooping. Jaskier was walking much better with the stick which made him cringe. Ciri was right, again, he’d still needed it. The confidence and ability that Jaskier had walking around… Now that he thought about it, it was often with Ciri or the horse beside him. Jaskier didn’t look at him as he took Egg’s lead from Ciri, simply pulling the saddlebags down, and unclipping the bag that held his and Ciri’s clothing. It was tricky one handed, but Geralt kept his distance as the bard fumbled. He still made a point to keep Geralt on his right. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He probably did deserve that. While he and Ciri disappeared down a small path, Geralt set up Egg for the night, laying out the bedrolls. He didn’t even bother with pretenses, putting their bedrolls together in the small divot where the heat would reflect off the cave wall. He put together a pot of stew before taking his own small pack and their water skins down the small path. He could hear the water they’d headed to, but paused still out of sight. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Jaskier? Ciri?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on, Julian’s done bathing. I’m washing my last shirt now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt slipped in, doing his best not to watch Jaskier farther down the pond, carefully getting dressed. He was in trousers and barefoot while Ciri was carefully helping him arrange a large black shirt over his arm and head. He dug his own clothes out of his bag to wash, giving them space as Jaskier’s vest and sling were carefully put on. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Over the decades he had seen Jaskier grow and build muscle, just from normal life on the trail. He had not, however, been ready to see the proof of a year’s worth of work with a heavy staff, filling out his upper body the same way the years of walking and dancing and sculpted his legs. He was fairly sure that was Lambert’s shirt, and it really wasn’t that large on the bard. The rare times in the past that Jaskier had borrowed Geralt’s shirts were during the first few years of traveling, and he’d drowned in them. The bright eyed baby bard had yet to build up a good set of travel clothing, but learned quickly. Geralt looked away carefully, focusing on his washing instead of cataloguing yet more ways the bard had changed. Ciri bounded over shortly, snatching up their wet clothing and wringing it viciously, chattering about how beautiful the pond was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at Jaskier who was heavily leaning on the makeshift staff as he watched Ciri finish the laundry. "You could swim, if you want, Ciri. Just don't swim out very far. There's a current."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri peered up at him. "A strong current?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shrugged. "Pretty sure. Lambert warned me away from it, and I can swim quite well."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Could Lambert swim in it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He stayed mostly away from it too, just floated around awhile." Jaskier leaned over, and mock whispered. "He looked like a particularly grumpy otter, all hairy and floating around. Nearly expected him to go searching for clams and rocks."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri's peals of laughter echoed through the little pond, but she soon stripped and dove in, both men dutifully keeping their backs to her. Geralt grunted, a hand out, and offered to take all the wet clothes back to dry. Jaskier gave him an incredulous look. "I can't swim right now, Geralt." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt glanced at Ciri, enthusiastically washing her hair. It'd been so long since he had gone through this pass. Decades. He couldn't remember where the water started to pull, but he could see the waterfall that dumped water into the pond, and the rush of water that was another waterfall driving down the mountain beside them. The current was strong, but he trusted Ciri to stay close. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I put stew on." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier frowned at him, before sighing and walking away. It wasn't much longer after that that Ciri bounded over, damp but dressed. "Why did you send him away?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't. I just told him I put stew on."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You have to use whole sentences, Geralt. He probably thinks you sent him to check on the food." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt frowned, but took the clothing from Ciri, wringing them out a little more. Jaskier already had the bowls out when they made it back to the cave and was clearly angry. Ciri plopped down beside him, dropping a head on his left shoulder. "It'll be okay, Julian. Your shoulder will be better very soon. How much more of the mountain is left?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt filled their bowls, doing his best to avoid the heated glare as yet again, Jaskier was reduced to waiting for someone else's help. Jaskier described the trip down the mountain from here, Lambert having to guide first the horse, then come back for him over some of the trickiest parts. Ciri looked nervous, but promised. "Lambert's not here to hold your hand, so I will, okay?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard smiled softly. "I've gotten much better on my feet now, Ciri. I will probably be just fine walking by myself."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well you're not riding Egg! He was terrible, sliding all over the place walking up here."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for her to crash hard, snoring on her bedroll. The hard climb and the swim tired her out, and as the cool air crashed in, Geralt went and gathered the dried laundry, folding it all and passing over a small pile. Jaskier took them, shoving them haphazardly in the saddlebags beside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why did Lambert bring you here?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you asking why he brought me </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or why we were anywhere at all </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He's my </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Does he know that?" Geralt glanced around, signs of his brother in everything the bard owned. The horse was stolen by Lambert, the camping supplies were Lambert's. The potions in Geralt's pouch were Lambert's. It didn't take him long to recognize the scent of that hair wax Ciri insisted on putting in Jaskier's hair. He was even wearing Lambert’s shirt. Jaskier just stared at him, face blank, before walking out of the cave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt knew he wouldn't go far, he wouldn't leave Ciri. So he just stayed, sitting, listening. Jaskier needing to take a walk wasn't terribly uncommon, and following after him meant leaving Ciri alone, and probably just getting yelled at. So he waited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't long before he heard the bard's voice. It was a low, sad humming that sounded haunting, echoing through the mountains. He was either on that outcropping, or on the trail going down. He had an idea which one, but stood to check. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slipped out of the cave silently, padding carefully to not distract or disturb the bard. He peered around the corner of a large boulder, and there he was. Sitting out on the far edge of the precipice, feet dangling over the side. His medallion hummed, and Jaskier didn't seem to hear the soft voice of Yennefer coming from his pocket, because he went from humming to singing, leaning further forward than Geralt appreciated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice started low and pleading, the pain evident. Geralt was frozen in his place- Yennefer quiet now but his medallion hadn't stopped the low level hum. They listened to him, silent and shocked, the song devolving into an angry desperation that sent his voice echoing across the valley. He'd always been able to project his voice far and loud- likely part of his training. But Geralt flinched all the same at the words sharp as knives. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I promise you I’m not broken<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I promise you there’s more<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but light<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>This here is not make up, it’s a porcelain tomb<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And this here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune because</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been ever so kind<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind<br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And so long to the person you begged me to be</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s down. He’s dead</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now take a good long look at what you’ve done to me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard cried quietly and Geralt backed away around the boulder. He had never been good with words, all too often being misunderstood or misreading another's intent. The medallion had stopped humming, Yennefer also must have decided the moment was not right for whatever conversation she'd intended to have with them. He waited until he heard the bard scooting across the rock and headed back to the cave, letting the illusion of privacy remain. He was beginning to think he should have risked waiting a few days for Eskel.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dislocation and resetting of a joint, I tried not to be very detailed. It's an accidental injury. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Woad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lambert woke up hot and sweaty, half crushed by Eskel laying on his chest. He shoved at his brother who just swatted lazily at his face. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stop acting like you don’t like hugs, Runt.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve got to piss you damn ox get off of me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel relaxed onto his brother, pressing down heavily until the smaller man groaned. Lambert shoved at his head before Eskel ducked and rolled off of him, laughing. </span>
</p><p><span><br/></span><span>By the time he was back, Eskel had the medical kit out and a handful of dried fruit and clusters of honeyed nuts and oats in a bowl on his bedroll. Lambert rolled his eyes. Eskel always managed to find the best food, but he knew what the bribe was for. He unlaced his trousers and shoved them down, giving Eskel access to the stitches that were now embedded in his thigh and would need to be picked out carefully with a knife. He flopped on the bedroll and picked lazily at the breakfast laid out for him.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Thanks.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel just smiled, and picked at the stitches gently. “East or West?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Still think we should avoid Ard Carraigh?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“It’d be for the best, we don’t need to advertise we’re heading back a full season early. Unless you want to wait until winter?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert snarled and threw a nut at Eskel’s head, who just tilted his head to avoid getting hit in the face. Laughing, he picked out the last thread and flicked it at his little brother, tossing him a small bit of bandage to wipe up the blood from the small cuts. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“We’ll get to the pretty bird fast enough, Lamb. Don’t stress.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Fuck off, Eskel.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The words were sharp but held no heat. Eskel just watched him as he picked at the food. By the time the campsite was nearly all packed up the tiny wounds had mostly healed, allowing Lambert to yank his trousers back up. The first light of the morning was just starting to brighten the forest, and they had a long way to go. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>They didn’t run, but encouraged both horses into a nice long strided jog. Endurance was the goal here, as they still had a long, long way to go. There wasn’t much talking throughout the day as they pushed through the forest headed towards the Pontar river. They could reach it in a day, if they pushed the horses hard. They didn’t need discussion to know that wasn’t the best option. Camping by the big river was never wise, even if unconcerned about monsters the traffic made actual rest difficult or impossible. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>The ride was easy and relaxed. The horses weren’t allowed to work themselves into a lather, regularly stopping to walk, or walk beside the horses. It was during one of these lulls when they ran across the small godling sitting on a riverbank. She waved at them, making no move to come closer. Lambert dug out a handful of dried meats from his saddlebag before he dismounted and left Eskel to watch the horses as he approached the small creature. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It took his offering happily, trading the treats for their newer, but still ragged, flower crown. It waved him to bend down and flopped the gift cheerily on his head. “Witcher Friend. No flowers for Witcher Brother, sorry.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Don’t worry about it little one. I’ll share. Did you find a home yet?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yes.” The little godling pointed east through the trees, though no sign of a town was visible. “Are you finally going to get Friend now? Will you bring Friend back to sing for me?” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert needed a moment, but the little godling was done talking and patted his cheek before disappearing into the brush. “Bring him back, Witcher Friend! That would be fun.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel laughed at the consternation on Lambert’s face when he returned, before Lambert reached over and dropped the crown on Eskel’s head. He tilted it slightly to the left, a rakish angle and blinked at Lambert. “Am I as pretty as the bard, Lamb?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert scowled, dragging Thistle away from the small river and moving onward. He was quiet and frowning, when Eskel pushed Scorpion up close, bumping their knees together as they rode.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You haven’t said anything about how the year’s gone so far, Lamb. How was the coast? Was Cidaris what he wanted?” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Well. I heard of a siren contract off the water- a little island, halfway along the northern coastline. It wasn’t bad. Couple of bombs, managed it all and only got clawed a little in my shoulder.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Lambert. I don’t give a shit about a routine siren contract. You know what I want. We traded specifically so you could take him to the ocean. Did he like it?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert’s whole posture shifted. He settled back on his hips, shoulders drooping. He stared at his hands a while before speaking. He told Eskel about the tiny cottage. The tiny bed that left them sleeping pressed against each other every night. About swimming in the surf, picnics on the beach, and how beautiful the sunrise over the ocean was. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I’ve never seen him so </span><em><span>happy, </span></em><span>Eskel. I didn’t want to leave. He came up to watch me do forms one morning and his eyes were the same blue as the sky behind him. It was </span><em><span>strange.</span></em><span> In autumn, it’s always been… frustrating to have to stop the hunting for the year. Spring I couldn’t wait to go back out. But I think... I could’ve stayed on that island for years just swimming in the surf. Fishing for our dinner. He said he thought he was happy. Maybe I should’ve left him in that town.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel startled, looking over. “What? Why would you leave him?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I may have punched his ex boyfriend and made the cur piss him himself in the middle of a marketplace.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“That’s not telling me why you’d leave Julian behind.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I wouldn’t </span><em><span>leave him.</span></em><span> I just. The town was so friendly. And kind, even to me. And there was a stablehand he was flirting with, I’m not sure if he had wanted to stay.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Lamb, did he tell you he wanted to stay?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“No.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You asked him if he wanted to stay, didn’t you?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah. He got upset, he thought I’d be mad. I guess Geralt got mad if he found a bed partner.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“And did he want to stay?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“He said no.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Trust him, Lamb. I don’t think he wanted to stay. I don’t think you cost him anything.”</span><span><br/></span> <span><br/></span><span>They rode in silence for the rest of the day, until they found themselves only hours from the Pontar, the horses dozing and their small fire dying in the light. Eskel sat with his long legs stretched out, resting back on the heels of his hands, placid and patient, waiting for Lambert to work through whatever he’d been chewing on all day long. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Why wouldn’t he have stayed?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You gotta ask him, Runt. I could tell you what I think, but really, you need to ask him.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“He was so excited to see you. Had me cut his hair and everything.” Lambert smiled, soft and small, the little wooden bird he’d been working on held loose in his hand. “Said he wanted to get pretty for you, before we left for the festival.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel just laughed, gently, knocking his shoulder into his brother’s. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“You’re nearly as stupid at Geralt, Runt. Think we need to keep a watch? I’ll take first, if you like.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Probably best. We don’t know how far they’ve gotten.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Sleep, then. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel just shook his head, and settled down to a light meditation. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>It was a peaceful night and a lazy morning as they hunted along the river for a good point to cross, avoiding being seen by travelers on the other side of the river. It wasn’t until midday as they headed east that they found a bridge to cross. They were within sight of Ban Gleán, having needed to travel farther east than they’d expected. They ambled across the river before stopping in the shade to let a caravan pass by. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Do we do the same as last time or should we just go?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert was obviously twitchy about the idea of separating again but Eskel looked around, relaxed and lazy to all outward appearances. He still wore the damnable flower crown, which made him look even less intimidating. He could see no sign of Nilfgaard from where they were, but that wasn’t a certainty.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Do you think we need any more supplies? I had meant to pick up a drum for winter, but hadn’t yet. Thought I had time. Anything you intended?”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Lambert thought of the quill in his bag, the book he pressed in Jules’ hands. He thought of the heavy, green wood staff. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Yeah. Alright. Let’s head to the city. It’d be nice to sleep in a bed. Do you have enough for a drum?” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Might. If not, no big deal. What do you need?” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“Leather. Jules needs a proper staff, and I think I know of a stand of trees we could find something decent at if we stick to the east.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel smiled, pushing Scorpion ahead of Thistle to lead the way. Lambert was </span><em><span>extremely</span></em><span> picky about his weapons, but still had favored blacksmiths and he’d use. And here he was, refusing to use </span><em><span>any</span></em><span> of his preferred weaponry sources in favor of carving a staff himself. He didn’t know if it was just a need to </span><em><span>do</span></em><span> something, but Eskel suddenly desperately missed Vesemir. Their mentor had been very supportive over the winter. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>They spent many nights in front of the fire in Vesemir’s room. The keep was the quietest it had been in years. They had talked about the years past- counting and recounting, the year Lambert had been gone, and the years after they’d all noticed the sudden downturn in his mood. They watched him slowly blossom back into closer to the man they knew from decades past. It was slow, and slight, the small smiles fleeting. But they were there. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>So he led them both through the city, finding a small inn with two rooms available. The horses would be pampered tonight, and they dropped off their bags in the rooms. Side by side they scoured the marketplace, finding a drum out of their price range. But Lambert managed to find the leather he needed for a new staff. He bought the palest leather available, and Eskel watched him measure it out. He was focused and picky about the pieces he purchased, before he dragged Eskel off to find the weaver’s shop. Eskel had to take over as the tiny young weaver who ran the shop was intimidated by the picky, judgmental witcher who came in inspecting her dyes. She gave him an excellent price only to just get them out of her shop, and Lambert’s delight was infectious as he dragged them back to the inn. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Eskel bullied his way in Lambert’s room. He was nosy and bribed his brother with ale and two bowls of stew balanced in one enormous hand. If Lambert would’ve preferred being alone he didn’t complain at the intrusion. He was too focused on organizing his supplies, fetching buckets of water and dropping the leather strapping into one as soon as it was hot enough. They ate, Lambert focused with the intensity of a task that Eskel usually saw when he was delicately measuring and preparing bombs, potions, and even at the still in the deepest cold of winter. Eskel was sent to fetch more beer, and he watched carefully Lambert use the most controlled Igni he’d seen to boil the water in the bucket he’d borrowed from the inn owner. He fussed over the dye with a precision that left Eskel silent, watching curiously until the leather that he’d left to soak earlier was carefully submerged, left to soak in the dye as they drank. He stirred and inspected the leather with a casual air that spoke of familiarity, and Eskel thought back to all the bright blue and pink shirts the bard wore. </span></p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>If Lambert preferred to stay together, he didn’t complain when Eskel ducked out with a ruffle of his hair, dropping the flower crown on his head. A night started so softly with a warm meal and plenty of ale that a hot bath in the privacy of his own room was a little too good to resist. The morning rolled around to a tired but pleased Lambert, gratefully accepting a bowl of eggs and sausage. Eskel sat on the floor beside him as they ate, admiring the pale blue straps of leather balanced across chairs, having been left to dry overnight. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Heel Turn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter fought me a bit, and frankly I'm mad at it so here you go *flings and runs away*</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt watched Jaskier carefully, the bard exhausted. He blearily rolled over, blinking and ruffling his hand through his hair before he disappeared out of the cave. Geralt prodded the pot of oats he started, waiting for Ciri to wake up. It didn’t take very long. Her long, thin arms stretched far above her head, and he waited for her to sit up before passing a bowl over quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it, Geralt.” She didn’t look at him, this young girl knowing him so well from only a few months. How could she know so easily how to force him to speak when he’d known Jaskier for two decades and still had no idea how to say what he meant?  He sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what that means, but I do know that you told me you missed him and you’ve been nothing but an asshole. I’m scared, Geralt. And you’re being mean to the only family I have left and it’s not his fault. I need you to stop. I need it. If you can’t stop, just stop talking.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked at his hands, then at her again. He filled another bowl and passed it to her quietly. She didn’t even have time to set it down before Jaskier shuffled back to the cave, sitting beside her and tucked the bowl in his lap to eat. Geralt watched them both a moment before picking up the majority of the small camp silently, leaving them to eat as he took Egg to the pond to drink and graze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ciri, you don’t have to defend me. We’re near Kaer Morhen, so when we get to the healers on the other side of this mountain I’ll probably just send you on ahead. I can wait for Lambert there- either you send him down or I’ll meet him on his way up. You can’t be responsible for me, especially against the father destiny insisted you needed. He’s good for you. And I won’t be long behind you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri was quiet, fiddling with the bowl while waiting for Jaskier to finish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s your choice, but it would make me very sad to leave you behind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see, darling girl. Going down this mountain was tricky the first time, I’m not certain I can make it up to Kaer Morhen. That climb is far more taxing than this pass, my dear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he was done awkwardly shovelling breakfast in his face Ciri took the dishes to wash as he attempted to finish dressing. He barely managed to get his vest back on, fingers searching out the treasures in each of the pockets before moving on. The belt was trickier, and he was attempting to replace his sling when Ciri came back in, hands out, offering to help. She got him sorted, brushing his hair out of his face with gentle fingers while he frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t want your hair done? It smells so pretty when I put that wax in, though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt sighed at this, having returned to pick up the last of the supplies. He knelt, rolling up the bedrolls to fit them into the saddlebags when he grumbled. “Don’t know if I’d call smelling like my brother a particularly pretty scent.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, what exactly does it smell like?” Ciri demanded, pushing past him gently as she dug through the bag to find the container. She waved it at him, and he watched her, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t need to sniff it. Lambert had been using the same formula for years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Beeswax. Lanolin. Mint.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri sniffed the tub and hummed, before working a tiny bit through her fingers, dropping the container back in the open bag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, then your brother smells prettier than you do.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both men just stared at her, stubborn and determined, as she focused on sorting out Jaskier’s hair to her approval. She smoothed the extra through her hair making a mess of it until Jaskier fixed it to look just a little sassier than normal, the wax smoothing the waves and small flyaway hairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long before they set off, Ciri leading the way, the trail easy to follow. Jaskier followed her, smiling as she did her best to clear the loosest shale bits from his path. They climbed up and over the peak, and Ciri paused to gaze at the valley below. Jaskier pointed at the small town just past the foothills, nestled in the trees just across the river that was tumbling down the mountain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s Aed Gynvael, Ciri. From here, it took Lambert and me two days to get there. There was a healer there, I’m hoping she’s still in residence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri gave him a long look, before looking past him at Geralt, quietly leading Egg. She squinted a hard glare, before turning with a huff and walking on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned slowly, the question clear on his face. “You’ll slip.” Geralt glowered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, Geralt. I’ll do what I can, but there’s one particularly bad spot up ahead Lambert walked me across. We’ll see when we get there. You might need to walk Ciri across, too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day was a quiet one, with plenty of tricky spots to get past with the shale slides. At one point in the past year, a tree had fallen and blocked the trail entirely. Geralt had to push Egg back, sliding around Jaskier and Ciri to shove it down the mountain with one poorly placed aard, and then a frustrated, far more effective aard. They all stood, watching the tree roll and crash farther down, taking out several smaller trees and scattering all the birds nearby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shale rockfall was much worse than the previous year. Whatever storm had taken down the trees shifted the path badly. Geralt took the saddlebags off of Egg and looped them over his shoulders, leading the big horse across. Egg scrambled and slid, scattering and sliding the loosest rocks. They slid in great sheets, Geralt only keeping ahead of the scrambling horse by moving fast and sure, lighter on his feet than anyone would normally think possible for such an enormous, imposing man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Egg got across, heaving and blowing, and Geralt tied him to a tree before coming back for Ciri, whose lightness of foot and small size gave her an advantage. Geralt almost looked nervous, coming back for Jaskier. He reached out, the same as he did for Ciri, and Jaskier slipped his hand inside the witcher’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In their travels together it wasn’t uncommon for them to touch. A million small touches, the soft casual nature that a tactile young man had, and never grew out of. A hand on the witcher’s shoulder, a nudge. The careless brush of hands and fingers working together, passing things, sharing ale and food, even bedrolls, beds, blankets. Gentle hands stitching wounds, pining and lovesick ones gently scrubbing through his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was an infatuation, lust, that blossomed into love. It never bothered the bard that much that it wasn’t returned. Unrequited pining wrought into famous and beloved ballads and poems. The tips and payments he earned on the road were well enough to keep them comfortable, but the money his poetry books earned was held in a bank in Oxenfurt. Geralt never asked about his finances. He may have been disinherited, he wasn’t sure. But the income from teaching and his books was safely tucked away. He wasn’t rich, by any extent of the imagination, but as Geralt’s hand guided him slowly across the patch, Jaskier wondered what use Lambert would even have for the pile of coin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt wanted little from the money they made. Food, a bed in an inn now and then, ale, restocking of supplies. Lambert had little issue procuring any of those, preferring to source the majority of his potion supplies in the forests as they travelled. He seemed to enjoy hunting, foraging, making a point to show Jaskier the plants, roots, and mushrooms that were edible as they travelled. Jaskier got too distracted, thinking of Lambert’s armour, and swords and every last one of his well cared for knives and knew there was little he could buy for the witcher he didn’t already have or had very specific requirements for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His foot slid out from under him halfway across the rockfall and Geralt’s firm grip in his left hand simply swung him. His feet slid across the loose, scattering stones, turning slightly to end up around and in front of Geralt. It was possibly the smoothest and most deadly of dance moves. Jaskier had danced with masters of the trade in Oxenfurt and courts and balls around the continent and had never been so fluidly and easily spun and placed in one exact spot. Jaskier’s eyes were wide, hand gripping Geralt’s, breathing hard and fast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, motioning the bard on with a lift of his chin, and on they went. Jaskier let go of his hand the moment his feet were on the solid packed earth. He’d done fairly well distracting himself at first, but the slip scared him badly. Ciri rubbed his back gently as he bent over, one hand on his knee, taking deep slow breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay Julian. You got across just fine! You kind of looked like you went away in your head, can you tell me what you were thinking about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing much, darling girl. Just shopping that didn’t get done this season, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like supplies? Or gifts?” She badgered him, pushing him up in the saddle before climbing up behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, what would you buy the person who has all they need?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something they want, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier just huffed a laugh as Ciri rested her head on his back while Egg walked on. There was only one more wide shale pile, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. The trail went faster beyond that, slowly winding down around the mountain, and they were low enough in the trees they could no longer see the city ahead of them. Geralt stayed quiet the rest of the day, watching Jaskier and Ciri discuss the worst person they had to shop for. Both of them concluded that gifts of necessity tended to be the worst options, as the recipient so often failed to realize the intention and care behind a gift. If it was a need, instead of a want, Jaskier argued, it was so easily overlooked as assistance instead of a love offering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were slow, and it was later than normal when they finally stopped. Geralt grunted, disappearing down the side of the mountain. With no walls to hold the heat in their chosen campsite, there was no question of curling up together again. They were still high enough on the mountain that the chill breeze of the night came down through the trail, making them both shiver. Jaskier waved the other half of the pain potion at Ciri, who quietly opened it for him, and stowed the emptied bottle away in the bag. Her small hand rubbed down his back, leaning on his good shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Julian.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Ciri. This wasn’t your fault. Come on, let’s get the camp situated.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took longer than normal to set up their camp as they were both tired and sore, but Jaskier had everything pulled out, quietly rearranging the saddlebags as he handed Ciri bedrolls. Geralt was back before the fire was even done with three rabbits. It was a quiet night, one Geralt spent a good part of the night watching the two sleep, Jaskier sleeping yet again with a blanket tucked under his arm to support his shoulder. Ciri curled up against his side, having migrated from her bedroll in her sleep to press against his other side, her small arm thrown across his waist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They slept quietly, but Geralt couldn’t relax. He gave up attempting to sleep, feeding the fire and settling down to meditate. If the rest of the mountain went well, they could reach Aed Gynvael in time for Ciri to sleep in a bed for the night. Geralt may not know how to talk to people but he knew how to ensure her needs were met. If Nilfgaard had spies this far north they had much bigger problems. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he planned. Down the mountain, to Aed Gynvael tomorrow. The town would be the last they would hit if they travelled along the northern edge of Kaedwen following the mountains across. Five more days, if they pushed it, they could be walking into Kaer Morhen. They could breathe. He hoped his brothers were there already and that Vesemir hadn’t decided to patrol Kaedwen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the trip down the mountain was quiet, Geralt hardly speaking at all. Ciri kept begging for songs and stories, and Jaskier indulged her, the quiet lilt of his voice behind Geralt kept him moving on. The foothills rolled out, bright and low, and he trudged on, one foot in front of the other. He was suddenly aware of the years before, Jaskier trailing behind him on foot, and did his best to walk faster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had pretended not to notice Jaskier arranging the smaller pack this morning, packed full of his belongings. It was hard to miss with Ciri’s glare at him. Plans became pretty clear after they’d stopped to let Ciri rest and eat and water Egg at a little stream late in the day. Jaskier refused to mount up when it was time to go. He kept his pack over his good shoulder, the big stick in hand. Ciri managed to stay quiet, though the tension between them was escalating rapidly as they travelled down the small forest trail. It all came to a head when they hit the road. To the left was a small elven camp, while the wide path continued towards the city proper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier wrapped a hand around Ciri’s ankle and smiled up at her. She smiled, a wobbly, wet thing, and Jaskier turned and walked away. Ciri took up the reins, walking towards the city while Geralt stood between them, staring. Jaskier did not turn and look back as he watched the bard walk down the forest past. It was only when Ciri went of sight that Geralt took off after her, long legs catching up quickly. This was planned, but they were less than a week from Kaer Morhen and could not risk any more delay. He needed to find out what was going on, and why Ciri was now willing to separate when three weeks ago she’d broken down in tears at the idea of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Recompense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The town was small and friendly, Geralt was unnerved by the lack of hostility. His reputation had gotten better over the years, but he was still treated with caution in most places. He found the innkeeper friendly and kind, a portly man who asked after Lambert by name. Jaskier had mentioned this was normally Lambert’s path home, and Geralt was puzzled at how his hotheaded brother could have left such a positive impression. He was rarely in this area of the continent, but he listened to the man ramble on about Lambert’s yearly visits, asking if he’d see him in a few weeks. Geralt just watched Ciri carrying a plate filled with food to a far corner of the room as he listened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Unlikely. We traded locations this year. Is there work needing done?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man shook his head, smiling. “Not exactly, but my lovely Hanna looks forward to Lambert’s yearly visits. If you’ve a mind, she’d welcome a visit. He came through far earlier than normal last year too, with a friend. Hanna was so distraught she didn’t have more to give him than a loaf of bread. He tried to turn her down but she’s stubborn. On that mind, Vesemir was through here last month. Pass on our regards, when you see him again?” With one heavy clap to his shoulder, he pushed an over-full plate of food at Geralt with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt carried his plate and two mugs to the table where he and Ciri ate quietly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should go say hello to his wife. So she knows Lambert’s okay. Is it really unlikely he will come this way?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Too far north.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ciri waited for Geralt to continue, picking at her nearly finished plate. She sighed at his silence.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we go see his wife now?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hummed, watching the small, portly man potter around. It had been an early supper, and there were still a few hours of light yet. He nodded, and Ciri strode off to get directions. Geralt stowed their saddlebags in their room for the night before they headed out. He followed her through the town enjoying that the small marketplace, while mostly closed down for the day, still held no hostility for him. It was uncommon enough that he enjoyed it, especially the curiosity from the townsfolk looking to see if it was Lambert heading through. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The house they were searching for wasn’t far, tucked back against the big river, and a plump woman with a riot of red curls came out as they approached. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you come with bad news for me, Witcher?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt frowned. “Your husband sent us along to tell you my brother wouldn’t be able to make it this year.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh is that all then? Is he well? He came through last year with a sweet young man, but they both looked so haggard we told them it was a lucky year, no repairs needed. We do have two that could use some work if you’ve the same skill.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Two?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilhem’s might need a look over as well. Lambert fixes up the poorest boat on his way home. We'll trust your judgment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until then that Geralt noticed the line of small fishing boats. There were a few propped upside down closer to the house. He nodded and started unbuckling his armor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do what I can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt worked silently, replacing boards and inspecting for less obvious damage. He ran a hand over the boards slowly, smelling for rot and prodding for weaknesses. Lambert was many things, and methodical was one of them. He wasn’t sure why he had a standing arrangement to repair boats, but he missed last year traveling through here with Jaskier. Geralt would do his brother's task with the same care he’d seen Lambert tend to the boat at Kaer Morhen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With his hands occupied, his mind was free to wander. When he had traveled with Jaskier, they would regularly separate when Jaskier needed to stay at a healer, or wanted to head a different direction for a competition. They’d find each other again after weeks, sometimes months. Jaskier always headed south for the winter season. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt finished two boats, pulling the final one up before he realized all the stories Jaskier had told Ciri never mentioned traveling alone. What appointments did he keep this year that he didn’t want Geralt to know about? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The third boat was mostly fine, needing only one board along the bottom, and by the time he was done Ciri and the lively woman were chattering in front of a fire, a warm pot of tea between them. Ciri was busily telling the woman of their dangerous trek over the mountain pass, and how their friend was at the healer’s looking after an injury. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Geralt stride up, the old woman patted Ciri, wrapping the soft hooded blanket around the young woman tightly before ushering her over to her guardian. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a late night for one still so young, witcher. Get her to bed. And send along our love to your brother. I wove the blanket for his boyfriend we met a few years ago. The lad was so taken with the color of a dress I was working on. I couldn't help asking Netta's daughter to try and recreate it. He won’t mind your young charge keeping it for now, will he?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt nearly tripped at the mention- Lambert had brought the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cat</span>
  </em>
  <span> here? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. His…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, your sweet daughter told me he passed, what a shame. Here, please. Thank you, we truly do appreciate your brother’s visit every year. And thank you for standing in for him.” Geralt automatically took the small, heavy parcel. The waxed linen wrapping did nothing to hide the cloying scent of fruit jams.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ciri elbowed him, twice, before rolling her eyes. “Thank you, we’ll pass along your well wishes. Thank you for the tea.” With a glare, Ciri left him behind. She didn’t speak again until they were sitting in the beds of the small room they’d taken for the night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to go get him tomorrow, Geralt. Hanna was telling me it’s unsafe to travel alone for the wolves. You need to go to that healer, apologize for being rude, and ask him if he will please still travel with us at least until a closer town. You can’t leave him behind again, not here, not because of me. You even said Lambert won’t come this way. It’s not safe! Why wouldn’t he even let us take him to the healer?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt frowned. He did usually get to escort Jaskier to a healer, he wasn’t sure why this time he’d gone off alone. Ciri just sighed and laid down with her back to him. It took a long time to fall asleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning was a test of wills. Ciri refused to pack and leave, waiting for Jaskier to show up. The road they were on headed back up through the mountain pass, or south out of the town. So she waited, and as the day wore on Geralt was surprised to realize it did not bother him to wait. He stood outside waiting with Egg, who dozed in the shade. The big horse had one back foot propped up, head low and ears lax. Ciri was still inside the inn. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could have carried her out. The town would likely not have bothered them, though he wasn’t sure if they’d still be as welcoming if Lambert came through again next year. It was midmorning before he heard Jaskier’s cheerful voice coming down the path, chattering with a tall elf who carried a bow. They were smiling and relaxed, though Jaskier cast a different figure wearing Lambert’s slightly too large shirt tucked in under the delicately tooled vest he never went without. It skirted his hips, and the matching sheath at his waist didn’t look out of place. His hair was back over his face again, and the elf had fingers delicately on the tip of his left elbow as they walked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier frowned at seeing Egg, before motioning to his companion. They headed over, and Geralt frowned as the elf placed a hand on Jaskier’s back. She leaned against his left side, one long arm curled around his shoulders as they came to stand in front of him. She was quite tall, with dark skin, closely cropped hair, and two long knives that hung at her waist. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt, where’s Ciri? Why are you still here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Waiting.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier frowned, and looked from the elf, back to Geralt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t need to. I told Ciri I would travel on alone, and Elas offered to escort me to Ard Carraigh to wait for Lambert.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d rather wait until winter to head up the mountain?” Geralt frowned. If Lambert and Eskel were coming back, it was unlikely they’d go through the city. Their routine was well known this far north. The change would be noticed and they couldn’t risk word getting out of the witchers returning home this early. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Only Vesemir could fetch Jaskier from Ard Carraigh without drawing attention, on one of his usual supply runs. Geralt frowned at Jaskier before him, with no obvious means to provide for himself for what might be weeks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier just sighed and looked to Elas. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had better fetch Ciri.” The woman shifted, freeing Jaskier to walk away before turning on Geralt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You would leave an injured companion to travel alone, Witcher? I’ve been told from the townsfolk your brethren are protectors.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier seems to have done just fine finding you as a new travel companion.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother healed his face last year. She was pleased to see him again but less pleased that he wasn’t with the same young lad he was last time. We were informed that it was your brother.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt sighed. “He’s not spoken for if that’s your question.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elas simply watched him placidly, before pulling a small bag out from her satchel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother sent gifts for your brother. Will you pass them along?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He fixes boats for you too?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother is not an easy one to catch the attention of. Human lives are short and volatile. Witchers even more so. But he stayed, pacing outside of her door. He fetched and carried while she healed the bard, and when he rested, he simply stood and waited. Few men value a companion to that degree. She was pleased to know he still cared for his companion.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt frowned but opened up the side of the saddlebag and tucked the small bag in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll pass along your mother’s regards.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Don’t want company on the trail if he chooses to go with you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Witcher, you could go ahead if you’re in a rush. I am familiar with these woods and can have them to your foothill campsite in 5 days unharmed. Julian’s shoulder should stay restrained for another two weeks, and I am unconvinced you will get him up the mountain safely. This town owes a great deal to your brother and it would be a slight on our honor to let his chosen companion come to harm.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is not </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is the town we live in, Witcher. One that accepts us as equals without bribery or placation. This will be our home as long as we are welcome. Accepting the importance of your brother to this town is simple. Our own have already seen his dedication and kindness directed where it was not expected or required.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt took this in silently, watching Elas wait patiently. The elf just stood there with a placid smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How much was he paying you to escort him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elas opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. She frowned, watching Geralt slowly become impatient at the lack of response. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Witcher,” Elas began gently, “Have you truly seen so little kindness you cannot recognize it in others?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt scowled. “Not an answer, elf.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not paid for this task. I offered my companionship without expectation of recompense. My mother took only her usual fee to see to his shoulder, and the coins he attempted to sneak onto her desk are in the potions bag. I’m here in friendship, an offer to see him to safety. Nothing more.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was then that Ciri and Jaskier came out. Ciri held a bag under her arm, one hand twisted through Jaskier’s. He had a fond expression that quickly turned troubled when he saw the storm on Geralt’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ciri ignored him, heading straight to Elas and introducing herself as Fiona. She put a hand out that the elf grasped in greeting when her eyes went wide, staring at Julian. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Julian, you did not say you traveled with-” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>niece</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Yes, isn’t she darling!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elas dipped her head in the slightest of bows before retreating, pulling Julian away to speak privately. Ciri was used to the adults speaking quietly around her, but was no less annoyed for it, busying herself attaching the bag to the saddle and mounting up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt, however, could hear the whispered conversation, Jaskier squeezing Elas’s arm as they talked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The Lion Cub, Julian. How can you take her alone through these woods with so little an escort?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The same way she’s come up most of the continent, Elas. Luck and determination.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Hew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry, this one fought me a little &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been a very long two days since they left Ban Glean. Lambert had confirmed the downed trees the morning they left, coming back to Eskel’s room early in the morning with a new axe that he tossed on the bed at his brother. They spent most of the first day traveling to Shaerrawedd, and after that had searched the forests surrounding it. He knew what they were searching for, but it was still far more frustrating to search for a tree. You can’t track a tree. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel stood in the middle of the stand of trees, watching Lambert scale up a particularly large one. He’d left his swords on the ground with Eskel, who stood with his arms crossed and his head tipped back, watching him climb. Lambert scrambled up the side like a small pine marten, occasionally peering down and around at the surrounding trees. Soon, he shouted down, pointing, before descending faster than Eskel thought entirely safe. Lambert slid down between the branches, never stopping. As soon as his feet hit the next branch he was bending to catch another nearby branch to guide his rapid descent. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He dropped to the ground in front of Eskel who just shook his head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Dumbass, you’re going to break a leg doing that. Which direction are we headed in?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Northeast. I want a yew, it looks like there are trees felled over there.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yew’s going to be a bitch to sand and you know it.” Lambert shrugged at this, but untied Thistle and led her on through the forest. It wasn’t clear from here if the increased damage around Shaerrawedd was caused by the weather, a battle, or the dying magic of the old Elven palace. The destruction soon became more obvious that it’d been from a recent fight. This was newer damage that happened sometime in the last couple of years. Eskel hadn’t heard about any battles here, but Vesemir was one of the few who took care of this area, not him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The crumbling remains spread before them, flowers and vines overtaking the ruins of the palace, long paths through the growth of forest showed where gardens and open air rooms had been so long ago. They followed one path, with the horse’s hooves clopping muted slightly by the mosses growing up through the stone walkways. The magic remaining in the area tingled down Eskel’s arms and he flexed the hand not holding Scorpion’s reins, casting the smallest Igni and feeling the surge of chaos rush around him. Scorpion snorted softly, ears flicking as the small flame surged up bright and tall for a moment before Eskel released the sign. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert tilted a grin at him when Thistle reacted to the small flame, flicking her tail and prancing slightly sideways, ears swiveling to focus on Eskel behind them. Lambert may not have the same sensitivity to magic, but he’d always been especially good at Igni. He practiced that particular sign until he could constrain it to the smallest, brightest spark of flame. It was incredibly useful paired with his vast and varied collection of bombs. The control required was stunning and never failed to impress Eskel.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was incredibly easy for Eskel to open the door to chaos within and pour it into the biggest, brightest signs. He could easily create an inferno, and his first Quen had broken his sign master’s practice sword. The older witcher had been amused by the young trainee being so adept so quickly at signs and meant to use the moment as a reminder that Quen shields, not properly held, could shatter. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was one bright memory shining in a sea of dark ones, so he scooped a stone up as he walked, bouncing the small pebble in his hand. He eyed the rubble of the path they were on as they walked, stealthily collecting two more small pebbles. He amused himself tossing and catching a small stone waiting until the pathway finally ended. Once Lambert had gone a few strides past finding easy retaliation, Eskel lobbed the stone, bouncing it directly off the back of Lambert’s head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The fuck was that for?” Lambert turned to stare at him, incredulous.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel just grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet until Lambert squinted at him. He huffed and turned away, picking his way through the destruction of downed trees. He finally tied Thistle to the bottom big tree that had been violently uprooted, before climbing up to walk along the wide trunk. Eskel waited until he was balanced farther up the trunk before pelting him with the second stone, hitting him gently a few inches above his ear. Lambert turned, eyes narrowed, and bared his teeth. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Come on, Lamb. We’ve been scouring the forest for ages. I thought you were in a rush to get back?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yew. I said I wanted a </span>
  <em>
    <span>yew </span>
  </em>
  <span>tree. Here I am, on a fucking yew tree. These trees have been down long enough that they should be perfect. Help me find some good branches, and we can get going.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel didn’t even attempt stealth, just tossed another pebble at him, and Lambert let it bounce off his chest, simply tilting his chin down and raising a single eyebrow. Eskel snorted and pulled the new axe they’d bought in Ban Glean and tossed it up to Lambert, who caught it deftly and stalked down the wide trunk, inspecting branches as he went. Eskel left him to his search, and the crack of the axe was a sign that Lambert had found a possible option. Eskel tied Scorpion beside Thistle and went to inspect the other downed trees. He soon found another one that had been twisted and split wide. He called Lambert over, who came slipping silently through the branches, twisting through the fallen limbs with all the grace and fluidity of the little minks Eskel had seen years ago far south in Aedirn. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>No explanation was necessary as Eskel just pointed to the ravaged tree before him. It took an hour to successfully pry out a long enough wedge of wood, working together to pull it out as undamaged as possible. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel went to take the long branch Lambert had carried over, but Lambert shook his head. They had what he wanted, now they were on their way. Lambert lifted the hunk of wood onto his shoulder before obnoxiously gesturing with the axe for Eskel to go ahead of him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fair enough. We wasted enough of the day, we can stay here tonight, give you time to trim that down to be easier to carry the rest of the way home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert shrugged. He clearly wasn’t bothered by the delay of a day, and at least they wouldn’t have to hunt down firewood with all the scrap they’d wrest from the tree in an attempt to remove a large and solid enough chunk for the staff. Lambert carried the chunk of wood on one shoulder, and Eskel watched as he wrestled with untying a now skittish Thistle who was very concerned about this new addition. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She settled down quickly, but insisted on nosing at it as they walked back to the ruins to find shelter for the night. Lambert tossed out his bedroll and cleared a fire ring before climbing up to sit on the broken remains of a wall, carving down the inner point of the wedge of wood. Eskel watched him shearing off long thin bits that he deliberately let fall near the pile of firewood that Eskel had dumped on the ground before he’d gone to tend to the horses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With them untacked and tied out for the night, he waved away Lambert, who went to get up and help finish setting up camp. It didn’t take Eskel long to start the fire. He stacked up the largest chunks he’d saved from their butchering of the tree before he scooped up a handful of the scraps to use as kindling. Lambert was still intent on his carving, relaxed and focused thanks to Eskel’s dismissal of his help. He watched for a few moments, but left him to his quiet focus and slipped away to hunt them something interesting for dinner. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He shouldn’t have been surprised it took far longer than normal, having to venture beyond the reach of the palace grounds before he could catch dinner. He lucked out and found an enormous grouse, solving the issue neatly. He managed to gather up enough long branches to make a decent spit on the way back, enjoying the lazy respite. Too often the way back to Kaer Morhen was cold, the bite of winter chasing him. All that chased them now was worry about Jaskier and the looming spectre of Nilfgaard. But they’d left a trail and rumors about heading south behind them, careful to travel the long way out of Ban Glean to encourage the deception. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He sat near a small stream, plucking the bird and leaving Lambert to carve the staff in peace. When Jaskier had told them the stories of travelling with Geralt there were interspersed tales of his own travels alone. A few nights the bard had dedicated to telling them about the most ridiculous escapades in bardic competitions and festivals he’d attended. After the explanation of Geralt leaving him behind they’d come to a silent agreement to not ask why he attended these alone, but instead delighted in and gently encouraged the stories. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stories Lambert had told him this path month sounded as if they hadn’t separated at all. Eskel wasn’t sure if it was because Jaskier no longer wanted to attend competitions or if Lambert just willingly followed where the bard led. The way he’d seen them behave together all winter they orbited each other, both pushing and pulling. The bard had a gravity to him near irresistible, and he still couldn’t understand how Geralt avoided falling into his weight. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Even with daydreaming and dawdling it didn’t take him long to finish cleaning the bird. He headed back with it and the sturdy sticks he’d acquired to roast it over their small campfire. The night wore down, the two of them quiet in front of the fire. Lambert managed to pare the wedge down into a messy approximation of a staff before their roast was done, and tossed handfuls of the scraps to the fire before he settled down next to Eskel. They ate quietly, tossing bones in the fire and watching the horses graze. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I think we can make it in a week, if we push the days and don’t stop in Ard Carraigh. It won’t be long, now.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m not a damn child, Eskel I know where we are.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know. It’s been a long month, though. We shouldn’t be long behind them. They might even be there now.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert watched the flames burn low and hot. Eskel stayed silent, but leaned against his brother’s shoulder gently, nudging him until he huffed and started stripping off his armor. Eskel snorted softly before he stretched out and dragged the other bedroll beside them. Lambert wasn’t asking, but his eyes were bright in the fire, only the smallest smile at the corner of his lips. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel took off his heavy armor and flopped down on Lambert’s bedroll, expecting a complaint and nearly tensing when he didn’t get one. He took a deep breath, about to ask Lambert if he was going to keep a watch when the younger man spoke quietly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Doesn’t smell like him.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lambert had left both of his bedrolls with Geralt. All he had was the small pack, a fact that still stressed Eskel deeply. He had a suspicion had Julian been trained with a sword, Lambert would have left him with one of his own. He pressed a hand to Lambert’s back. The sharp knobs of Lambert’s spine under his palm just increase the vulnerability of the man he’d watched grow up. He relaxed slowly, cautiously, before turning around. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you know another good place to cross the river without going all the way to Ard Carraigh?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel shook his head. It was a big river, and it was the source of freshwater for the keep. There was a road and a big bridge to cross the river just outside of the city, but they would be seen and recognized traveling that way, and it would undermine every effort and delay they’d tolerated to prance through the town not only months early, but as a pair. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lamb, lay down.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He rolled his eyes and laid down, allowing Eskel to bully him into resting a head in his arm. Eskel rested a chin gently on the top of Lambert’s head, squashing him close. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I always take the path up through the city, I try to time it so I can go up with Vesemir. If not, he leaves a supply list behind for me. It’s too early to bring up supplies now, even if we split up.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I never come through that far south. Only did because Julian was hurt, so I dicked around Kaedwen for the last of the season.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know, Lamb. I was thinking that we could creep along the other side of the Gwenllech.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The south side? Is there even a trail on that side?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t think so. It’d keep us from being noticed by any hunters, though. They still use the start of our trail to hunt in the mountains.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s a good idea. Not sure if we can still do that in a week though.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Lamb.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck off. Jules will stab you himself he hears that shit.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel smiled into Lambert’s hair, squeezing him tight until fingers prodding hard between his ribs, forcing him to relent. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>you been teaching that pretty songbird, Lambert? Are you turning him feral?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t have to. He was feral when he found me. Like it that way.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Moans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry the delay. :) A few flashfics, some brain weasels. So close to the end now. &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt had walked ahead of them all silently for hours, traversing the narrow game trail that crept along the northern foothills. Ciri followed silently on Egg, but Jaskier and Elas trailed behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elas had her hand tucked in Jaskier’s good arm, opting to let him lead the way where the path was not wide enough. He spent the day telling her quietly about his travels around the continent until he paused, for once uncertain of the next bit of his tale. Elas squeezed his arm gently as he fell quiet, tilting her head to rest on his for a moment as they walked. The small island he'd been talking about sounded idyllic, and it amused her greatly to listen to how every one of his stories circled back around to Lambert, no matter what they were talking about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he’d first walked into their small camp seeking the healer by name they’d been wary until her mother welcomed him. She'd waved away the curiosity of their neighbors placating them with the assurance she'd told him previously they had planned the move away from Holopole. The area had already been becoming less friendly to non humans when he'd been dragged in bleeding and burned. They'd intended to leave before things became hostile, and was so charmed by them both she'd told him to visit the next time he'd been nearby. Jaskier had expected a further walk as their plans were originally closer to Rakverelin, and was delighted to hear how kindly they'd been welcomed in Kaedwen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elas had helped him take his vest off to get his shoulder seen to, and had quietly inspected the beautiful stitching and tooling as she held it for him. It was far heavier than she expected, and not only because of the purse in one pocket. She'd thought it a pretty vest at first glance, useful for pockets and warmth, but the heavy layers made it clear it was protective. She was not surprised when the bard smiled at her inquiry and told her Lambert had insisted upon it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had told her mother a little of how they’d separated and that he was on his way to meet back up with him when she’d inquired why he was not with the young witcher. Elas had been listening quietly to their talk as her mother chatted with the young man, amusing herself by inspecting his armor and sword. She had been impressed by the blade that Lambert had purchased him. It hadn’t been cheap and she was sure that the bard hadn’t realized the expense, though he clearly took good care of it. It was excellent quality, light, small, and well balanced. It was also beautiful, which made her pause and watch the young man. A witcher's companion armed well is not surprising. Armed with such a deliberately chosen piece of art is quite another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elas could see the reason for her mother’s fondness for the pair. Jaskier’s face was soft and open talking about his friend, and Elas had a strong suspicion that he didn’t realize the import of being trusted so implicitly at the back of a witcher. Jaskier walked the path beside her, as she considered the claim laid upon him. His bag was tied to the horse to spare his shoulder, but she suspected it belonged to the witcher as well. The heavy utilitarian nature of it clashed with the bright, pretty bird beside her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seemed oblivious to how much he'd wrapped himself in the protection of the man he had walked half the continent to get back to.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier walked carefully, though he did stumble now and then. Elas caught him silently, until they stopped for a break at a small pond late in the day. Egg was watered while they ate quietly. Elas made them dig out their cloaks, humming in approval of the solid fabric Jaskier pulled from the depths of the saddlebag. Ciri begged to wear the blanket instead, curled up in the rich red fabric. Geralt frowned, but said nothing, and Elas relented only if she rode in front of Jaskier, to be better protected from the rain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt grumbled, but Elas simply pulled a cloak out from her own bag after helping Jaskier and Ciri. They rode for hours as the wind picked up. The afternoon turned chilly and dark quickly, and Ciri’s happy chatter at having Jaskier at her back died as soon as the rain started. Jaskier pulled his own cloak over her shoulders as she pressed back into him, protecting them both. Elas strode ahead, taking Egg’s reins to lead the horse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It would be best to get as far as we’re able today, Witcher. If we can travel far enough, there will be a campsite on this trail, with a shelter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So they trudged through the rain getting slowly heavier, before Elas stopped and called Geralt back. He strode over, surly and soggy. "Can they trust you to go ahead and set up camp?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt's eyes widened, then he frowned, turning to look back down the trail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just before a fork in this trail, on the southwest side. The shelter is big enough you will find it easily. Come take the bags, you can get a fire started to warm these two up. Hunt the child dinner, if you have time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nodded, pulling the saddlebags off and hooking them over a shoulder before he loped off, and Elas and Egg trudged on. Elas managed to goad the big horse into a bit faster walk, but it was well past their usual stopping time when they turned off the trail and started walking through the brush. The denser brush gave way shortly to a low, wide hut of woven sticks, with a stern and soggy witcher standing in the open doorway. He had his armor off, a blanket blocking the doorway, and the drift of smoke and the scent of stew made it clear Geralt had not wasted the hours it took them to catch up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elas shuffled both indoors as she settled Egg in a dry spot beneath a large tree, and when she'd come back, Geralt was already at the door holding out the tie line. They traded, Geralt taking the tack indoors. Elas was impressed at the witcher's efficiency, damp articles wedged up to dry and helped to hold in heat, the tiny campsite clean and dry and warm. Ciri was tucked in her bedroll, her large red blanket hung up to dry. The fabrics hanging from the roof gave the small hut the feeling of a soft, warm tent. Elas tossed her pack in a corner, hanging up her cloak to dry in a corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The food had them all sated and warm, and Geralt had spent quite a bit of the time apart to gather firewood for the night. Far more than they needed, but it would likely be gratefully accepted by the next person to use the small hut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon, Ciri sleepily asked for the now dried blanket back, and proceeded to tell Jaskier about the town and the stories she was told. Jaskier smoothed a hand over blanket, making appropriate noises of awe and approval. It was then Ciri clarified her task was to bring it to Lambert, in memoriam. Jaskier’s smile wobbled, but he hummed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. He will love it. It matches his armor, you know? We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t leave it in Aiden’s room and </span>
  <em>
    <span>uses</span>
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  <span> it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aiden has a room?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, darling. You’ll have your own room, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But he-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“People don’t leave your heart when they pass, Princess. And if you have the space to spare as it seems those wolves do, they needn’t leave your home, either. Consider it similar to the tombs of your previous life.” Elas spoke softly, “A place not to keep a body, but a heart and soul.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier reached for Elas, who slipped close, kneeling beside the Princess. “On the very good days, Lambert will even tell stories about their adventures. It’s a beautiful way to learn and love someone you will never meet, my dear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You love him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. You will too, when you hear the stories. He was brilliant and mischievous, clever and caring. He did everything he could to make Lambert laugh, and they fought side by side for years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri hummed, making Jaskier laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"None of that. You sound like Geralt."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt just grumbled that Lambert's armor wasn't red, before he flopped over to sleep, facing the open doorway with his back to the rest of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elas rolled out her own bedroll between Jaskier and the wall of the small hut in the only space left. With both Geralt and Ciri asleep, she shifted and nudged Jaskier from sitting beside Ciri into his own bedroll with gentle hands before she knelt before him. She softly undid the buckles of the vest off helping slide it over his shoulder. They moved softly and quietly, a tired imitation of the previous day. Her hands were gentle as she bound his shoulder tighter for him to sleep comfortably on. Suddenly Geralt rose up, snatching up the blanket he was laying on, glaring at the two of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Geralt?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stuff it, bard. I'm not interested into listening to you fuck the elf." He swung the blanket over his head in a makeshift cloak and stalked out into the pouring rain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elas snorted, before bursting into laughter as Geralt disappeared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, Elas."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That? Oh, little bird, that tantrum wasn't your fault, it was likely wholly mine. You are quite beautiful to look upon but unless I am very much mistaken, you are not only not interested in me, but not interested in potentially waking up the Princess." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both looked at Ciri laying not two arm's length away, and their laughter followed Geralt as he stalked through the rain. </span>
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  <span>Elas pressed Jaskier gently down into his bedroll before straddling his waist, pressing a sound kiss to his forehead. </span>
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  <span>“There. You may now claim to have had me in your bed atop you, and succeeded in gaining my affections.” He shoved her gently, and she rolled over lightly onto her own bedroll, eyes bright in the firelight. </span>
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  <span>“Tomorrow we can go south to Ard Carraigh as you wished. It’s about a two day walk, at the pace we’ll take. Or I can take you two days towards the foot of the mountains. There ought to still be a hunting cabin I can take you to in the foothills. I can wait with you there for your Witcher to fetch you.”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier sighed. “It really would’ve helped if Geralt was willing to discuss anything.”</span>
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  <span>The elf hummed, making them both laugh again. “We can decide in the morning. Shall we torment the witcher with moans, or do you think he’s frustrating himself enough?”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier shook his head. “Leave him be, Elas. He’s always hated when I’ve… found welcoming arms in our travels. I’m not sure why he’d think I’d find this an appropriate moment, however. You are very lovely, my darling friend, but I’ll have to politely decline. I’m not-”</span>
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  <span>“Shush, silly bird. Go to sleep. I know.”</span>
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  <span>Jaskier shook his head, before rolling over with a snort. It was too late, and he was too tired to think of what she meant. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Dearest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I'm sorry this took so long. I've been looking at it for awhile, and had some brain weasels fighting me on it. It didn't get quite as far as I wanted it to but .... I have good news? There's ART. *gasp* I know, right? We've been blessed. &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's a very, very pretty art of Julian over here on Tumblr. It was linked in last chapter's comment section but I wanted to make sure all of you saw it, because it is <i>fantastic</i>. </p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://tumbleweedtech.tumblr.com/post/634498581964963840/it-took-days-to-get-done-but-im-so-happy-with"> Clicky through to the Tumblr post</a></p><p> </p><p>I'll embed it in the bottom, too. My shitty old laptop *hates* Tumblr. So I feel you out there whose devices complain. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Elas woke early at the rustle of Geralt starting a pot of oats. She rose quietly, stepping over Jaskier to sit at his side, nearer to the fire. <br/><br/>“You’re a fool, witcher. And you need to let it go.” Geralt just growled, stirring the oats and glaring into the small pot. <br/><br/>“Did I interrupt your fun, elf?” <br/><br/>Elas laughed softly, glancing down at the sleeping bard, his face soft and peaceful. She reached out, brushing the hair from covering the scar on his face. <br/><br/>“Is it guilt, witcher? Or jealousy?” He growled, and she placed a hand on Jaskier’s knee, seeming to ignore how the witcher tensed at her movement. “Either way, you’re clearly mistaken. It is not difficult to see why another treasures him. He loves so easily, freely and wholly, doesn’t he?” <br/><br/>“He’s noisy.” <br/><br/>Elas just smiled, the silence heavy as the morning drew on. It wasn’t until she pressed Geralt about which destination would be more likely to see his comrades that he spoke at all. He grumbled while tacking up Egg that if they were smart, they would avoid the cities. Ciri frowned, twisting her hands. <br/><br/>“We have avoided most towns as we’ve traveled, Elas. Geralt said we were too recognizable, especially before Julian fixed my hair. But we’re so close, now. Please don’t stay behind, Julian.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him until he gently boosted her up onto Egg. It was a quiet discussion, and the lure of both Vesemir and the luxury of having his own bedroom had Jaskier agreeing to skip Ard Carraigh. </p><p><br/>It had rained throughout the night and the forest floor was soft and soggy. Jaskier was goaded into riding with a wry smile from Elas, who caught him slipping on wet leaves twice before they even set out. Past this fork in the trail, she told them, they would walk into less often traveled paths. The rare human hunter would risk the foothills, but for the most part this area of the mountains was largely avoided. It had been so for so long, that when Elas’ family had inquired why, the local hunters had only shrugged. It could have been respect for the witcher keep, fear of it, or even superstition. The end result, whatever the reason, meant wilder and more dangerous paths. <br/><br/>Elas gave up trying to walk behind the horse after the first few hours. Egg’s slow, lazy plodding for two days in a row was far too frustrating for her long legs. With a wink at Ciri and a pat to Jaskier’s leg, she took the reins and led the horse on. He protested with a lift of his head and a snort, but lengthened his stride and walked more briskly. <br/><br/>Geralt approved of this new arrangement with a hum and as dusk fell he dipped into the forest, rejoining them an hour later, with three large rabbits in hand. Elas nodded, and beckoned him close. <br/><br/>“It’s been a long hard ride today for them, but if we keep going a bit longer, there’s a campsite just ahead of the river. It’ll make an easy early morning crossing.” <br/><br/>Geralt looked up at the tired faces that watched him from the back of the horse. They looked worn out and smelled distinctly of horse sweat. Ciri had dirt smudged on her face, and there were bags under Jaskier’s eyes. “Is the campsite close enough to the river for them to wash?” <br/><br/>Elas’ face shifted into a gentle smile, “Yes, Geralt. That’s very thoughtful of you. Let’s go, and I’ll get them washed while you cook. You did wonderfully yesterday.” <br/><br/>Geralt snorted before he turned and stalked down the trail. <br/><br/>It was dark by the time Elas had them tucked into another small shelter that had been built between two enormous trees. The river ran slow, but deep, and the evening wash had done them all good. Even Geralt’s mood was improved, despite his frustration with Elas' utter lack of modesty in bathing. <br/><br/>She had thrown her head back, laughing at Geralt’s complaint. <br/><br/>“Witcher, she’s a teenage girl with breasts of her own. A body is nothing to be shamed for. I would say yours are larger than mine, so why are you worried? Mind yourself, as I have nothing she does not also have.” Ciri had found it all utterly hilarious, even though she’d quietly requested to bathe in privacy. </p><p> </p><p>She spent their dinner pestering Elas for details on the little wooden huts they were using on the trail. She was proud to tell the young woman how the shelters were built by her community once they’d moved to this side of the mountains. She talked of their culture, and how they prided themselves on building huts that blended into the background of the forest and limited the footprint that hunters would leave behind. The carefully built roof with the small chimney hole allowed them a small fire that wouldn’t disrupt the forest creatures. Elas talked softly, pleased to have such a rapt audience. <br/><br/>Ciri dragged her bedroll beside Geralt’s as the elf spoke, and poked and prodded him into letting her lean against while she listened. He didn’t resist or complain as she sorted him into a comfortable pillow to rest against. Jaskier’s soft questions and the scratch of his quill eventually falling asleep to the soft questions Jaskier asked to keep Elas going. The soft scratch of him taking notes in a little blue book <br/><br/>Jaskier laid down again beside Elas, who rested on her stomach. She had her chin in her hands, lazily kicking her feet as she watched the pair across the fire. <br/><br/>“He’ll be an excellent father once he lets go of the lie that he cannot feel, I think.” <br/><br/>“Ciri’s done more in a year than I have in 20 in convincing him. He’s doing wonderfully.” <br/><br/>Elas just hummed, making them both laugh softly. Geralt ignored them, and tried not to think about whether or not he’d have to leave his bard at the bottom of the mountain. There was no way of knowing if Lambert and Eskel had beat him up the mountain. Vesemir may not even be there, as he would often make a round of Kaedwen a few times during the year. <br/><br/>Geralt rolled his eyes as she coaxed Ciri and Jaskier into stripping down to their small clothes as she was for the swim. Elas was determined, however, carefully helping Jaskier undress. He watched her hands work, the contrast between her dark skin and his utter lack of a tan made her delicate touches all the more obvious. She held his arm gently as he wiggled out the rest of the shirt, before starting to repack the saddlebags. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt had no complaint at her redistribution of the bags to separate out what shouldn’t, or couldn’t, get wet. The main bag was left lashed to Egg, the oilcloth tent fabric binding everything tightly inside. The hope was that between that and the saddlebag, the items inside wouldn’t get soaked, or at least dry quickly. Geralt just packed a few of his loose daggers and potions into the bag with the food. He took over making sure the horse was ready for the swim. Once they were ready, Ciri was perched behind Jaskier and Geralt picked up the two packs of dry goods, weighing both in hand before handing Elas the lighter of the two.  <br/><br/>The river was deep enough that Egg had to swim across half of it, Geralt’s swords firmly strapped to the saddle as Elas and Geralt both swam across downstream. Geralt held the heavy bag above his head that contained their food stores and a few wrapped parcels Jaskier insisted <em> could not </em> get soaked. Elas’s lighter bag was mostly clothing, but it was stuffed full. </p><p> </p><p>Egg was surprisingly calm and confident striding into the wide river, swimming as patiently and placidly as he did everything else while Ciri clung to Jaskier, who had his left hand wrapped firmly in the horse’s mane, allowing themselves to float and be pulled along with Egg’s powerful strokes. Ciri and Jaskier managed to stay a little drier than their guardians, but Egg shook himself powerfully, stamping his feet at the annoyance of a wet saddle pad. </p><p><br/>They did their best to dry themselves, as ineffective as it was. Elas dug out their protected clothing, passing Ciri’s over first. It wasn’t ideal to dress over top of damp underclothes, but Ciri didn’t complain. Elas dressed herself quickly, fingers quick over buckles as Jaskier barely had his trousers and boots on. The sling was soaked- they’d left it on solely in case Ciri slipped and needed the handhold. <br/>Geralt watched from across the small beach, where he’d checked Egg to make sure</p><p> no river stones had wedged themselves in his hooves. He could hear the elf’s teasing laughter, admonishing his bard for trying to refuse help. He remembered, suddenly, a tavern nearly 20 years ago, and a much younger Jaskier insisting on helping with his own buckles. Scowling, he released Egg’s leg and set about reattaching the saddlebags.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt frowned as Ciri dug carefully through the bag, pulling out a black shirt. Jaskier stood bare chested in the sun, scratching a careless hand through the thick curls of hair on his chest. He smiled softly as Elas snatched the shirt from Ciri playfully, shaking it out. They laughed at Jaskier yelping at their play fight with Lambert’s shirt. He couldn’t remember Jaskier ever wearing one of his shirts. Lambert was only slightly shorter than he was, and his shoulders weren’t quite as wide. The past year had seen muscle built on the bard, defining his broad chest and arms. His staff had served him well, but the pretty little sword could have very promising results to his muscle definition.</p><p> </p><p>Elas helped him pull it on over his damaged shoulder, tying up the laces before helping him slide on the vest. Her quick fingers did up the buckles as she batted his hand away from helping. He caught his blue eye sparkling, dancing in laughter. It’d been a long time since Geralt had seen his face that soft and light. His laughter died as he caught Geralt staring. He watched him for a moment, their eyes locked from across the riverbank as Geralt just finished tightening Egg’s cinch. Jaskier frowned, looking away until Elas prodded him in the chest with an impatient finger. </p><p> </p><p>With the bags reattached, they headed off on foot in an effort to warm up after the chilly swim. It was late in the summer but the breeze off the mountains was chilly on their damp skin. Ciri shook her hair out wildly, laughing when Jaskier attempted to do the same but cringed at the movement to his shoulder. She fussed with his still damp hair, now nearly to his chin, and tugged on his beard.<br/><br/>“If you’re going to keep that on your face, Julian, your hair must look nice. Otherwise you’ll look like a mountain troll!” <br/><br/>Jaskier smiled, scratching gently at his beard. He’d kept it oiled and soft, but it’d been now three weeks since it was last trimmed. He was more confident now than he had been the previous year, and the missing patches of beard on the side of his face were far less troubling than they would’ve been before. Lambert <em> had </em> said it made him look roguishly handsome. And Lambert’s well tended beard was incredibly flattering on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Ciri didn’t complain for the hours walking in damp clothing, but they were dry enough by the time they stopped for food that she and Jaskier were bundled back up on Egg, who snorted and stamped again at being led along at a faster walk by Elas. She had explained to them there was a final campsite on this path, but this one was a small cabin. There was even a small stable behind. </p><p> </p><p>It was hidden back off the main trail to the keep, tucked up against the foothills of the mountain. There was a small pond hidden nearby, and Elas told Ciri of her last trip up the mountains hunting for food for their community. They had returned with satchels of smoked meat, and a string of smoked fish. <br/><br/>“Why do you hunt in the forests near the keep? There were forests surrounding your camp, and the cave at the top of the pass. There must be closer game, certainly?” <br/><br/>Elas smiled over her shoulder at Ciri, and the next few hours were spent explaining the basics of overhunting, her arm stretching out, describing the location of the nearest mostly-human towns. Geralt was quiet, and finally when they’d stopped to raid the saddlebags for a midday snack he spoke. <br/><br/>“Even when the keep was full, we’d rarely hunt this far out for food. We kept a farm, in the back hills. Goats, sheep, Horses. Chickens. It was better to be as self-sustaining as possible. Vesemir hunts throughout the year to fill the larder to last over winter. It’s usually only the four of us.” <br/><br/>The trail pulled them south, farther away from the foothills, but Geralt couldn’t complain. Egg was willing to stretch his stride for Elas, and they covered ground much faster. It was a long day, Ciri falling asleep propped up against Jaskier for hours, but they reached the small cabin easily. <br/><br/>It was clearly built by human hunters, years prior. It had been kept up well, with a shed for smoking meat beside the cabin, not far from a small stable. Geralt took over Egg, while Elas shepherded the two humans into the cabin. She had the saddlebags over one shoulder, and dropped them in a dusty pile in front of a large fireplace with a deep pile of furs in front of it. Ciri set to work inspecting the small cabin, and stacking wood in the small fireplace as she’d been shown. Between them all, the small cabin was quickly readied for the night when Geralt came in with four rabbits and a handful of wild carrots and foraged greenery. Elas was impressed, and sent him out again to refill their water skins, and had a stew started by the time he returned. <br/><br/>He took her direction silently, as she waved and pointed with the knife she was using to chop and he took out the furs and blankets and with a sigh, even the straw tick mattress. Ciri curled herself into the furs after she ate, Elas gently combing fingers through her hair and singing old elven songs while Jaskier had his small blue notebook propped on his lap, scratching quietly in a corner. <br/><br/>He wasn’t sure if it was the potential split up, or that they were tired after such a long day that had everyone speaking quietly and carefully. Tomorrow would begin a three day climb up the mountain, and he wasn’t sure if Ciri would leave Jaskier behind willingly or insist on staying. But right now the night was calm, the comfort of solid walls and a floor easing them into sleep. Geralt ceded the bedroom to Elas, who badgered Jaskier into joining her. They slept on the old mattress, wrapped in the blankets from their own bedrolls, the door left open. He wasn’t sure if it was a kindness, or a cruelty, that Elas failed to shut the door. <br/><br/>He did his best not to watch her unbuckle Jaskier’s vest, herding him around the bed so she slept nearest the door. He tried to remember the last time he shared a bed with Jaskier. He could no longer even remember how long the bard knew his preference to be closest to the door. The first night Jaskier had been forced to share his bed was a cold spring night, his boots wet and the inn cold and leaky. He’d fussed and fretted and paced before Geralt had to physically push him into bed with a growl. He’d been exhausted from a griffin hunt, underpaid and overtired and the bard’s pacing jangled his nerves. It shouldn’t bother him how easily he slept pressed up to so many others when he’d been so afraid to be near Geralt. <br/><br/>Sleep didn’t come easily that night for Geralt. The syrupy sweet hiss of a mage long dead, whispering in his ear woke him up with a start, the sky still the deep dark of predawn. <em> “Attachments are dangerous... They distract you on the Path. We’ve lost too many specimens to foolishness, so we’re here to burn it out of you, young witcher. Now tell me. Who is your dearest friend? Who do you love the most?” </em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you can, please make sure to go send the artist lots of love, ok? &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Slough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>what's this?! so fast!? what the heckity heck? &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was no road through this particular part of the forest, so they followed game trails and skirted around the thickest of the underbrush they couldn’t pass through. The horses moved easily, snatching at the long grass as they rode. Eskel went ahead, Scorpion’s placid manner better suited to lead. </span>
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  <span>It was two long days of travel before they reached the Gwenllech River and turned east. They rode through the day, stopping only to water the horses and stretch their own legs before continuing on. They rode mostly quiet, comfortable in each other’s company. Eskel trading Lambert stories of their time apart. Stories of contracts, talking about running into Coen on the northern end of his loop early in the season. Eskel historically better luck with contracts, his easy going manner and charisma helped smooth over the initial fear of his large, imposing presence. </span>
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  <span>It helped that very few ever dared to short change him. The scars on his face had been there so long that Lambert couldn’t imagine Eskel without them anymore. He sat, considering Eskel’s face as he finished binding the pretty blue leather wrappings on the staff. </span>
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  <span>Eskel’s face had deep, craggy scars, the tip of one sharp tooth peeking through where a chunk of his lip was missing. He’d nearly died in the conflict that caused them. The blades had caught at the delicate skin at the corner of his eye, and had torn his cheek apart. His smile was lopsided now, one eye unable to crinkle up the same as the other, and the torn muscles shifting anything but the biggest grin into something that could nearly be called a sneer. Still, he retained the rugged beauty he’d always had. Lambert remembered watching Eskel and Geralt, so many years ago. Plenty of the younger trainees were jealous of their skills and talents, but for many it was the easy comfort and love that the two had shared. Geralt was always making Eskel laugh, and the sight of their easy camaraderie gave them hope that they could still find joy. </span>
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  <span>They’d been inseparable, but somewhere between when Lambert was busy being torn apart and his eyes ravaged from green to gold, their friendship had been shattered. Eskel was always the steady, patient one. Kind to everyone, even if he didn’t laugh as often as he used to. Lambert wasn’t sure why Geralt had withdrawn from everyone so harshly. The smiles had been stripped off of him as surely as the color off of his hair. After the sackings the only reason Lambert stayed at the place of his deconstruction was that he couldn’t leave Eskel to drown in the guilt and loneliness alone. </span>
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  <span>“You’re thinking loudly, Lambert.”</span>
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  <span>“Have to, to drown out the sound of your face.”</span>
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  <span>Eskel laughed, nudging him with a foot. “Can hardly recognize you for the smiling, asshole.”</span>
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  <span>Lambert frowned. “I am not?” </span>
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  <span>Eskel just smiled, tossing a twig on the small fire. They could hear the rush of the river to the west, impassable for miles in either direction. Eskel managed to catch them fish for dinner, a nice change from the small game they’d been hunting. The air was heavy and damp, the pressure building in the huge thunderstorm broiling over the mountains ahead. Eskel hadn’t said anything, but Lambert could feel the pressure in his bones. The mutagens healed him back to fighting form, but long term comfort was never a concern. The echos of broken bones haunted him, he could rarely sleep on stormy nights when the humidity was high. The sharp, biting cold of winter made him ache, deep in his ribs and his hip where young bones had been broken and rebroken. They healed long before mutagens had been burned into him to speed the healing process. Even with the assisted healing, decades of aches left him with a deep seated hatred of the cold and damp.</span>
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  <span>He rolled his shoulders, finally finished stitching now that both bands of leather had been affixed to the staff. He stood, stretching before spinning it lightly around one hand, running through the forms first one way, and then back again. He ignored Eskel as he moved through another more complicated form, the staff whipping around his side, up in one hand and around into the other. The yew was solid, and strong, but he could feel it flex as he struck out, the give of it in his hands and was pleased. It was far better than the old one, and less likely to break.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He worked himself into a sweat, back and forth across the tiny break in trees that was only a clearing in the most generous usage of the phrase. His hair swung loose in his eyes and he could feel the ache in muscles rarely worked together when a pebble bounced off the back of his head. Eskel laid out on a bedroll, a soft smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sleep, Lambert. We’ll try and push the horses faster tomorrow, okay? Following the river should be easy.” Eskel had a point. They reached the river in the late afternoon and it didn’t take long before they found a trail to follow that ran alongside it. Even just the game trail made traveling easier and faster.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eskel had hung both of their gambesons in the tree, taking advantage of the opportunity to air them out of the sweat and horse smell that lingered in the armor. The damp in the air had him worried. The trail up the mountain was dangerous enough, but a hard enough rainfall would force a delay he didn’t want. But before he could fret, Eskel dragged him down onto a bedroll, flattening him onto the forest floor, covering his aching back with the warmth of his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eskel had always been a furnace, warm to the touch. He’s always been kind enough that the littlest could press themselves into his heat during the winters. It hadn’t been until after the sacking that Eskel had found him cranky and chilled, bundled in furs as close to the fire as he could get. It’d been with the saddest, softest smile that he wrapped himself around Lambert, silent in the depths of the first winter they spent alone. The keep had been especially cold that year with so few hands to repair the damage. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t until Lambert was finally dazed and warm, pliant and unexpectedly touch drunk that Eskel had squeezed him tightly and asked why the cold hurt him so much more. He was little, compared to Eskel. Nearly anyone would be, broad across the chest and as tall as Geralt. Those few inches in height and a handful of years meant he would always be the baby to them, even if he was as tall as Vesemir and arguably a better swordsman than both his brothers. But Eskel had him pinned, lax and lazy, so Lambert just told him stories of bones broken young enough hurt forever. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Every winter after that, Eskel would tap on his door on the bitterest nights, offering the warmest blanket in the keep. Only a few times last winter did Eskel tap- either he wasn’t sure if Julian would be as accommodating of the warm solid bulk of his brother, or assumed the little bird was warm enough to keep the ache away. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He hadn’t thought to ask, until now. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Eskel.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Shut up, runt. Go to sleep. We’ll be home soon.” So he didn’t ask, and trusting his brother, slept deeply. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The third day they were not as lucky. They rode hard following the river north, and every time the trails brought them close enough to glance down at the Gwenllech it was deeper and angrier. The rain had already started far north in the mountain pass, making the already dangerous waters froth and rage. They kept far from the banks, pushing the horses as hard as they dared. Neither complained, but Lambert could see the stress in Eskel’s eyes, the way he watched the clouds broiling above the mountains ahead of them. The thunderhead was a deep, dark grey that rolled and boiled over itself. It was clawing its way over the mountain range, the deep rumbling growls of thunder in the distance only increasing the feeling of impending danger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thistle was skittish, Lambert needing to keep a tight hold on her head. This wasn’t worrisome as she’d been a headstrong mare when Eskel had purchased her, but even Scorpion was unsettled, snorting and blowing at every deep, resonating rumble of thunder. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They were both soaked, and Lambert could only just hope that the food in his saddlebag was packed well enough to come out dry. Eskel stopped fairly suddenly in a small clearing off the trail, the damage to the underbrush making it obvious that the humans who dared hunt this close to the keep used it regularly as a campsite. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The rain was heavy now, oppressive and miserable, Lambert soaked completely through, and no matter how good the night vision those mutagens gave him it could do nothing against rain so heavy it clung to his eyelashes, his hair hanging down in his eyes. He couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at Eskel’s unimpressed look, just as soaked. The rain dripped steadily off of each of the big spikes on the shoulders of his gambeson, making him look especially pitiful. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Camp here or push to the caves?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lambert looked around, and squinted up through the rain. It was dark, and easily another hour, possibly two to the caves around the curve of the mountains. The danger here was the lightning, and an unpleasant night spent damp and cold. The cave was pushing the horses farther than they really ought to, but it was the only hope of getting dry. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Let’s go.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Towards the end of the ride, they’d both had to get off and walk the horses. The nearly constant growl of thunder was imposing enough, but the big crash of lightning that cracked through the sky had all the hair on their bodies standing on end. Even the ever placid Scorpion spooked at the explosion that happened half a second later- a tree farther up the mountain decimated by the storm. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The rain was roaring now, and Lambert patted a heavy hand down Scorpion’s rump before sliding his hand down and wrapping it in the big stallion’s tail. The big horse ignored him. He never minded handling, but Lambert very much did not want to risk a kick. The mud of the trail was slick, sucking at their boots as they walked, the horses splashing with every step. They reached the cave an hour and a half later, the rain still pouring. The storm clouds had rolled directly overhead. It was late, but they would normally have walked at least a few more hours before camping for the night. They couldn’t risk it tonight, and would have to stay in the cave until the rain stopped. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was a big cave, familiar to both of them. It was one of the old stops on the path to the keep, but the trail they had been walking on was so old that it was scarcely more than a game trail. Only four witchers traveled to the keep regularly anymore, and Vesemir took the other trail that was easier to bring a cart up. No one used the back trail anymore- and Lambert wasn’t sure if they’d risk the path that's been left untended, or go out of their way to take the better trail that took an extra day up the mountain. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He knew which one he’d choose, but he also knew which trail Jules would demand he took. A day was nothing. Not after four weeks. The morning would have answers, and Lambert would just have to wait. He bullied the horses into one side of the cave, which was no more than a wide overhang. He hobbled them both before tying them out as Eskel built a fire at the far end of the shallow cave with too-damp wood and what Vesemir would complain was an entirely inappropriate use of igni.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It rained hard throughout the night- the horses too skittish for them to do more than nap. The tie line doubled as a drying line, and so did the ropes for the tent. They hung everything they could up, both sitting in slightly damp clothes and shivering, pressed side by side. The saddlebags kept most of the water out, and the oilcloth bags kept the food dry, but they couldn’t dry themselves. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>By morning the rain had finally lessened to a drizzle, the humidity finally broken. The horses were dozing, and the fire was low. Through the night they’d taken turns rising to hang yet more damp things up to dry, folding those dried to replace in the heavy leather saddlebags once they were dry as well. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Neither one of them were eager to move, enjoying a lazy breakfast routine. It wasn’t until the saddlebags were completely repacked and the sun was shining through the last of the rain clouds that Lambert ventured out of the cave. Eskel followed and they stood admiring the forest. It glittered as the morning sun caught the light of a million raindrops suspended from branches and leaves. It was beautiful. He could hear the slow, deep roar of the river far below them. Lambert glanced over at Eskel, but the question on his mind was chased away by the sheer horror on Eskel’s face as they both realized what that deep, tearing crackle was. The sound of twisting, tearing wood and the roar of water barreled down the mountain increasing in volume as it neared them. His brother’s big hand snatched him by the arm, flinging them both back inside the cave as the sun was suddenly blocked out by a rolling tide of mud. The sharp sounds of cracking and tearing of trees that had been ripped from the ground surrounded them. They pressed against the back wall with the horses, both snorting and stamping at the waterfall of mud pouring over the lip of their shallow shelter as the entire mountain seemed to slough off. Only glimpses of sunlight sparked through the thick mud as they were trapped, watching it pour past, waiting for it to end. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Expanse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry this one took so long, darlings. Hopefully I'm on a roll. At least it's nearly twice as long as most chapters? </p><p>All my thanks and love to Ilisidi for the Beta, and the entire Cake Shop for being terribly supportive &lt;3</p><p>And Heathen, for being so patient. </p><p>We're nearing the end. &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier found himself the first one to wake, Elas stretched out long and lax beside him. He could see Ciri still curled up in a lump in front of a low banked fire in the main room. He couldn’t see Geralt, but knowing his preferences he was meditating closer to the door. He’d always been the one to guard, to stay between Jaskier and the world. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He wasn’t sure how much was just training deeply ingrained in him, and how much Geralt actually enjoyed protecting. Jaskier shifted carefully, pulling his vest up from where Elas had hung it on the end of the bed. Elas was not as light a sleeper as Geralt was, for which he was grateful. She’d been so kind that he didn’t want to disturb her as only the very edges of dawn creeped through the small window. He rummaged through a pocket awkwardly, before pulling out the small xenovox. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He hadn’t had the privacy to really inspect it, but he remembered the soft images from Yennefer in her attempts to soothe his panic telling him that Geralt won’t know his answers to her questions. An image of her and Geralt talking, Geralt sleeping alone. He had understood her intent. She was soothing him that their fight was settled. He could feel the amount of time they’d traveled together in just that one moment, the weight of cooperation and a deep love for Cirilla. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He sat with the small box in his hand, before opening it. Ciri had told him of their travels, small stories of Yennefer and Geralt’s arguments, how after one too many close calls they’d decided to separate. Yenn’s intentions were to hunt down those hunting Ciri, as Geralt ran north. It was a good plan, one he wasn’t sure if his inclusion helped or hindered. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He’d spent years attending Ciri in the winters, sneaking her stories of the father destiny picked for her. He’d done his best to build his old friend up in his daughter’s eyes, while warning her of his habit of growling instead of speaking. He spoke of Geralt’s habit of not finishing his own sentences, and with how comfortable Ciri seemed with him it seemed that his stealthy preparations had served her well. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yenn? I don’t know how this works. If you can hear me. Do I go up the mountain with him?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He spoke softly, tracing the edges of the small box, knowing it was unlikely he would wake Elas or Ciri. If Geralt was awake or still in the small cabin there was no privacy from him anyway. He was still nervous about the prospect of Yennefer letting go of her ire. He knew she’d never been angry at him directly, but her words had always been sharp and she’d never hesitated to tear apart anyone who stood in the way of her goals. Had she decided he was an ally? Or a tool? Her kindness had been welcome, but now that he was calm he was uncertain if he should trust it. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Glancing at his armor, he debated what Lambert would think of it all. He knew what he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span>. More than once they’d had similar conversations. Arms crossed, that tilted smirk on his face, amusement crinkling the corners of his golden eyes. He was an idiot, an idiot who said he’d meet Lambert at the keep. He was meant to be taking Ciri to Vesemir. He couldn’t stay behind just because the company was unpleasant. He snapped the little xenovox closed, before standing slowly. He had a mountain to climb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his decision made, the morning passed quickly. A sleepy Elas was just stretching, sauntering into the main room where Jaskier was slowly stoking the fire for breakfast. Geralt slipped back in with a small string of fish, looking surprised to see them awake. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>For as early as they woke thanks to the comfort and security of heavy walls and warm blankets, the morning passed quickly. The fish were cooked for breakfast, and the bags were repacked carefully. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t until Ciri dragged Geralt outside that Elas curled up beside Jaskier in front of the small fireplace. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’re going up the mountain, aren’t you.” He just nodded, looking at his hands. Elas had helped them all so much over the last few days, and here he planned to just walk away. He had nearly talked himself back out of going when she suddenly appeared again by his side, his vest in hand. She pulled him to his feet before she helped him put it on, buckling it slowly before rearranging the sling over top. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I am glad you’re going, Julian.” She smoothed down his hair, fussing over him gently. “No don’t frown. I am. The sooner you are back home with the old wolf-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Vesemir.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She leveled a glare at him that made him hide a smile behind his long hair. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The sooner you are home, you can rest that shoulder. My mother said you have at least two weeks yet to wear this sling. And work it slowly, after. Do you trust him to get you safely up the mountain, Julian?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’s thoughtless, Elas. Grumpy, and scared for Ciri. But he’ll get me up the mountain. At worst, I’m pretty sure I know the way myself.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> make me feel better. That is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>opposite</span>
  </em>
  <span> of reassuring, Julian.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled at her gently, pulling her close into a hug. Elas rested her chin on top of his head, and curled around him. She watched the fire as they stood quietly, waiting for Geralt to return and the trek up the mountain to begin. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri was the one to fetch them, bouncing into the room as they stood pressed close. The only bag and belongings that they left in the small hut was Elas’, and Jaskier had insisted they leave a good portion of the food supplies with her. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt grumbled it was often only a two day ride up the mountain, but Jaskier shook his head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Three. Maybe four. It was hard enough on me the first time. And I’m sure we went more slowly thanks to Vesemir’s big cart. But you cannot drag Ciri up the mountain at a breakneck pace.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Vesemir took you up the mountain?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Is this really what you’re choosing to focus on?” Jaskier’s utter disbelief startled Geralt into movement. He frowned, but picked up the saddlebags to finish tacking up Egg for the trip. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The morning was still cool and grey, as the sunlight had yet to burn away the dampness of dawn. Ciri perched on a fallen log in a small patch of sunlight, holding Egg’s reins as the big horse dozed, ignoring the movement around him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Elas wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s hip as they stood in the sunshine, tilting her head to rest on his. “This is the usual path they take up, right?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Close enough. I don’t remember this little cottage the first time, but we are off the path a bit. If they passed I’m not sure if they’d think to check on who stayed here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you think Lambert would have if it was you, staying here?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier looked down the trail they would follow, and the mountain that rose ominously in the distance and sighed.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No. He’ll be in a hurry, he’ll push as hard as he can. He knows I can survive just fine, and I know he’d be capable and safe, if he stayed to finish the season as normal. But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised</span>
  </em>
  <span> to follow. He won’t break that promise. Geralt even said he may be up there already, if they rode hard and weren’t delayed like we had been. We added at least a week, going the long way.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just because you can survive doesn’t mean you’re living, Julian.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Extenuating circumstances, you know this. Being uncomfortable isn’t the same as in danger. It’s unpleasant. But I’ve survived worse.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She tipped his chin up with a hand, and pressed a kiss to the edges of his burn, where it crept high on his forehead. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fair. Keep speaking such wisdom and you’ll sound like my mother. But let's get you moving, that is a big mountain to climb, and I’d like you to reach the campsites you spoke of before it’s dangerously late for her to be hiking. Keep your sword handy, dear friend. There’s wolves in these woods, and not the kind charmed by your kindness.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri clung around Elas’ waist, the tall lithe elf clearly moved by the affection shown by the young woman. She buried a hand deep in the dyed yellow strands of hair, brushing her fingers through it gently, and murmured, “Their disagreement is not yours, little one. Not to carry, not to fix. But if you can encourage your father to use his words -</span>
  <em>
    <span>all of them</span>
  </em>
  <span>- it’d benefit you all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri nodded, sniffling before swiping a hand over her face and stepping back. She stood tall, shifting her posture and taking a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, they were bright and commanding, a princess in both tone and poise. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Elas, we would be greatly indebted to you and your family if you could remain in this cabin for at least two days. We ask this of you in hopes that if our companions pass, you can pass along our safe passage thus far and limit their concerns. You have stated your path from here leads to Ard Carraigh. I have written a letter I wish you to leave in the hands of the innkeep that Geralt has named.” Ciri pulled a slightly crumpled letter from the inner pocket of her vest, presenting it formally to Elas, who took it delicately. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It would be my honor to assist you, Cirilla. Your confidences are mine, and our friends are shared. May your journey home be unobstructed, and I look forward to the day our paths cross again.” With a dip of her head, the letter was tucked away in a pocket before Ciri’s calm and collected demeanor shattered with a bright, childish grin and she loped off to climb up on the enormous horse who snorted and shifted at the disturbance. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t long before they set off. Jaskier looked back only once, the tiny edge of the cottage invisible now, but Elas stood with arms crossed, too far to be sure of her expression but Jaskier had the distinct impression she was worried. They all were. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The foothills grew steep quickly, and conversation veered towards Ciri interrogating Geralt about the dangers of the mountains. He grumbled quietly about the forktails who made their homes on the higher peaks, farther back in the range. He told her about the boars who ran in packs, the Leshen who used to live deep in the forests. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He grunted softly that they were making good time when Ciri asked quietly if they would make it to the campsite. Jaskier just laughed, stumbling on a branch, trailing slightly behind Egg. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, Ciri. These are just the foothills. After tonight is when it gets quite steep. When we bed down, I’ll tell you about the pack of wargs who attacked us. It was really quite dramatic- I was carried about like a damsel for twisting my ankle a bit.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri was bolstered by the promise of a story, and when they camped the first night, Jaskier spun lightly on his feet in the light of the campfire, demonstrating the way Lambert and Vesemir drove the beasts back. Geralt snorted at his theatrics, and nearly resisted when Ciri demanded he demonstrate the signs in Jaskier’s story. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Long after they fell asleep in their bedrolls by a low campfire, Geralt listened quietly in the darkness. There were no dangers for the miles he could hear, but he knelt on Ciri’s bedroll as she’d abandoned it to curl up with Jaskier as the increasing damp in the air left a chill. He watched them sleep as the fire burned low, before meditating until dawn. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Hiking the next day was harder, and a little slower going as Ciri insisted on walking, to hold Jaskier’s hand. The mountain got steeper quickly, but Egg plodded along slowly. Geralt was nearly ready to pace with frustration over the slow passage, but every time he turned to look at Ciri she was focused on Jaskier. So he pulled the horse along behind him, their steady climb up the mountain slow but inexorable. Jaskier stopped them often, settling Ciri down to rest as he plied her with food from the pack. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It wasn’t until the day wore long that he snapped at them both to get on the horse. It was a perfectly acceptable, wide, flat saddle, that while not strictly meant for two was clearly big enough. The low cantle meant that whoever rode behind generally was seated on the saddlebag that rested behind it. With the tent roll and packed clothing it wasn’t uncomfortable. Egg was plenty big enough. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt wasn’t sure why they were insisting on walking, but the last time he walked this slowly up a mountain was also the last time he and Jaskier-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt stopped, looking behind him at the two small figures, as his bard spoke softly to Ciri, his face animated as she gripped his free hand to guide him along. It didn’t take long for them to notice he’d stopped, and Jaskier frowned at him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Going too slow.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri frowned at his growl, yet Jaskier only flushed and looked away. They got on the horse without complaint, however, and he took the reins. It nearly doubled their speed. His interruption didn’t stop their story, but this time Jaskier was telling Ciri about a storm by the sea that rattled a cottage so hard he was certain it would have blown away if Lambert hadn’t held it down out of the sheer weight of his gaze. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted at the exaggeration, but kept moving. Egg was displeased that he wasn’t allowed to graze as he walked any more, but they made it to the cave by dusk. They were on the edge of the territory that the wolves and wargs preferred, and he did not want to camp in the open tonight. He left them behind as he scouted and cleared the cave, and by the time he returned Ciri had mostly untacked Egg. Jaskier just stood watch, and Geralt watched from the darkness of the trees. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was clear he was far more used to having a weapon than he used to be. His easy, ready stance reminded him almost of Vesemir’s training, but he still favored one side. The bard would not be helping Ciri train, so it mattered little. They both startled when he stepped out of the woods, a fat grouse in one hand. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The safety of a cave and the nearby stream, and so close to home, Geralt curled up to sleep on one of the bedrolls, leaving Jaskier to dinner. Ciri just watched with bright, wide eyes, and when he woke hours later, Jaskier sat alone, the fire low as Ciri slept. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I told her to wake me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know. But you need rest too. You already cleared the area well enough so I could take a watch or you wouldn’t have risked sleeping. I know how tough the switchback tomorrow is.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Geralt growled, pulling the wrapped meal closer to eat as he watched blue eyes in the darkness, flickering campfire making them dance. Blue eye. He frowned, studying the bard’s face, his hair hanging low over his eyes again since Ciri had not pulled it back. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sleep.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fair enough. Lambert would be cross if I fell over the edge.” Geralt frowned at the small smirk, Jaskier clearly was lost in thought. But he didn’t explain, just smiled. A small, brittle thing that didn’t look quite right on his face. He was suddenly thrown back into a memory of a small nervous smile so many years ago, the bright wide eyes of a young man near begging to accompany him across a fire. His face was brighter, hair messy and short, with the guilelessness of youth. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier had somewhere along the way lost this. Had he set it down, or had it been burned out of him? Geralt snorted at the unfortunate pun and tossed the bones into the fire. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What happened to your face?”  Jaskier’s face did a number of things as he stared at Geralt across the fire. Eskel’s scars pulled his face into a near perpetual sneer- especially when he frowned. Jaskier’s scars didn’t appear to run as deep, but they damaged the muscles enough that his expressions looked slightly blank, lacking the ability to mirror well. “Whoever healed you did a decent job.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No. No, we’re not talking about this tonight, Geralt. You won’t believe me anyway- so why ask? Lambert can tell you. Gods, ask Vesemir. Just don’t ask me again.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The soured mood held on through the next day, as Jaskier took over guiding Egg. He held onto the reins for balance, as Geralt guided Ciri before him up the switchbacks. The sun was high and they were making good time, but Geralt’s nerves were frazzled when Ciri caught him by the wrist as they waited for Jaskier to round the last bend of the worst of the trail. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Geralt. What did you do- Julian’s so quiet. Were you mean again?” She glared at his stubborn silence. “Did you apologize?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wasn’t mean, Ciri. Just asked about…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She sighed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I told you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not everyone will talk about it. We’re not witchers, Geralt. That took longer to heal on him than it would have on you.” Geralt just grumbled, but when the bard finally crested the trail, they walked on only a little while before he settled them down for a long rest.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ciri laid in the long grass of a meadow as Egg grazed beside her. “We aren’t camping here. How far is it to the next camp?”  Her head was on Jaskier’s leg, as they watched Geralt look out over the mountainside they had climbed so far. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mm. A few hours, I think? There’s a nasty drop off just before. When I was here last, it was so very cold.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s cold </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah. But I fell asleep snuggled between two very warm witchers, in the back of a cave that howled and moaned as the wind blew past. And I woke to the snow up over my ankles. It was far colder then, princess. It is very muggy, isn’t it?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The farther they climbed the quieter they got, and it only became more unpleasant when the rain started. Ciri was tired, but her face went pale and she swayed in the saddle at the sight of the drop off. The chill damp in the air had made the climb all the more unpleasant, and Jaskier was so tired from the walking he was forced to accept Geralt’s boost into the saddle behind Ciri. She pressed back against him, hiding her face beneath his cloak. He hissed at the pressure against his shoulder, but just held her close and lifted his chin, for Geralt to lead the horse on. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The path itself was well wide enough to walk safely, but while it wasn’t as treacherous as the shale slide they crossed, the drop off was sheer, and the crumbled edge of the path sent the swoop of anxiety that sent gooseflesh up his back as he held Ciri closer. The rain made the mud slick and suck at their feet, and the gathering storm made the precipice drop into the grey nothing of the mist.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He’d had little concern walking the path himself, even gently teasing Lambert over his concern but he held Ciri close, not letting go until Geralt stopped in front of the small, deep cave that would be their shelter for the night. It was light enough out that he could see it was not a natural cave, clearly dug out by human hands. Just like the last time he spent the night in the cave, the bedrolls were laid in the back. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was deep in the dark that a deep roll of thunder woke him. Jaskier watched until Geralt returned, stepping through the curtain of water that sluiced over the entrance of the cave. His eyes glittered in the dark, reflecting the firelight and they narrowed at the bard clearly waiting.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Checking on Egg?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We need to leave. Wake Ciri.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Just as Jaskier had gathered Ciri, wrapped in her warmest clothes and cloak, a resounding snap and an echoing crack shot through the mountains before the thunder growled overhead, vibrating through them, setting the pebbles around them bouncing. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Shouldn’t we stay in the cave?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Geralt says we need to go, darling.”  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He took her hand, and they headed out. It was a long few hours trudging through the rain, and Ciri gripped Jaskier’s hand tightly as the thunder crashed and rolled over them. Geralt strode ahead, admonishing them to stay far back. The metal in Egg’s shoes and the amount of chainmail in Geralt’s armor made them a more likely target for the lightning, especially when crossing the killing green. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>When they came to the edge of the green, Geralt stopped them, drawing a Quen over them all and waited. Egg snorted at the shimmering edge of the shield, sniffing and tossing his head, pulling gently away from the rippling magic. But still, they waited, and eventually, he grumbled. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No telling if he’s seen us come up. Let’s go try the gate. May need to skirt around to the hole in the Eastern side if it’s locked.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>For all their ill luck over the past three weeks, Jaskier was relieved when Vesemir opened the gate, ushering them out of the rain. The older man looked over them all, soaked and exhausted, as the thunder rolled over the mountain. The vibrations sent small pebbles clattering down the keep walls as he stared at the bedraggled group before him, his eyes alighting on Jaskier and Ciri. He pulled the bard into a gentle hug, murmuring a welcome home even as Ciri tugged on Vesemir’s sleeve lightly with a complaint to mind the wounded shoulder. His eyes narrowed before he turned to Geralt, who stood to the side with Egg. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What happened</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And where’s Lambert?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vesemir now has an increasingly quiet and unhappy bard, an uncertain wolf, and a pup who deserves more stability than she currently has. </p><p>The memories aren't always welcome.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies for the long delay, darlings.</p><p>So many thanks to three lovely friends (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro">Bro</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkey">Frenchkey</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/majortrouble">Major</a>) whose gentle nudges and reassurances helped get this ... surprisingly long chapter out the door.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier crumbled, his voice soft. “He’s not back yet?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vesemir narrowed his eyes, looking over the soaked trio before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, stable the horse. I’ll take these two in and get them warm.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt frowned, and watched as Vesemir offered his left arm out. Ciri watched warily as Jaskier tucked his hand in Vesemir’s elbow but the older witcher simply held his free arm out for the saddle bags. After swinging them over his shoulder, he walked them through the slowly worsening rain towards the main buildings. Ciri followed reluctantly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long to get settled. Vesemir took them directly to the kitchen, and they were both in dry clothes and curled up in blankets before the fire when Geralt returned. Ciri was all wide eyes and damp hair, her small hands cupped around a mug. Geralt shrugged off his armor, standing it on the racks in a corner of the kitchen. Jaskier’s vest hung there already, carefully wiped dry and on what was usually Lambert’s rack. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The room held a deep quiet, the only noises were the heavy crackle of the fire and Vesemir quietly preparing what was looked to be dinner. He was home, after so long traveling. So long running. So long hiding. The spectre of Nilfgaard had loomed over his shoulder for so long that it was nearly unsettling that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t feel calm or safe. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They had weeks yet before the snow closed the pass, and Vesemir would likely conscript him into repairing some of the outer curtain wall left damaged. It had never been a priority in the past decades, but if there was any risk they could be followed here again they needed any small advantage they could eke out. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But now, Ciri was warm and safe, and he finally had someone else to help protect her. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And yet, he was still so unsettled. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you’re going to just stand there, go take your bags to your rooms. Ciri’s bedroom is Rennes’ old one.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I have a bedroom?” Ciri’s voice was small and quiet, but she peeked up from where she had been resting her head on Jaskier’s shoulder. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Of course you do, pup. It’s just across from Geralt’s room, he’ll take your things there soon. You may go rest after you eat.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt watched them curl close, Jaskier murmuring with Ciri. They were soft and quiet, so Geralt just took the instruction for what it was, moving close to Vesemir. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You cleared rooms?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Julian cleared his own room last winter. I fixed up one near yours for the pup.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How did you know I was bringing her?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I didn’t.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Dinner was quiet, a warm vegetable stew eaten with soft, crusty bread. It was surreal, to be sitting in the safe, warm quiet, and Ciri fell asleep resting on Jaskier’s shoulder before she’d even finished her bowl.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt lifted her carefully, for all the long legs and gangly limbs that marked her a teenager she was small in his arms. Vesemir just shook his head, pressing a heavy hand on the back of  Jaskier’s neck as they rose to get her settled. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you need help carrying your things to your room?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier shook his head, patting the old man’s hand gently. “No, all I have is in the side pouch, there. Most of it is Lambert’s.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Where’s your staff? Thought I taught you to care for your weaponry, lad.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt froze, uncertain. Jaskier had said he’d visited last winter, but the implications and familiarity between them both was staggering. He’d run the training courses until he was ready to drop for not putting away equipment properly, and here was no anger. No disappointment. His face creased in a frown, the worry evident, but Vesemir just shouldered the bags with a soft smile. “I’ll take these two to their rooms and light the fire in yours regardless. Sit and finish that. You can tell me about your season tomorrow.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir had clearly seen them traveling up the mountain, as Geralt and Ciri’s rooms had already been aired out, small fires going. Ciri was tucked in close, and Vesemir left Geralt with a firm shake of his arm. “Sleep light. If she wakes before you, she doesn’t know her way around yet and may be frightened.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was all Geralt could do to nod, watching the old man shuffle off. They’d returned weeks early, with a child in tow, and Vesemir hadn’t even blinked in surprise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning was even more unsettling. Jaskier was already in the kitchen, looking tired, but smiling as he and Vesemir seemed caught up in conversation. Jaskier’s shirt was off, and Vesemir stood beside him, working his shoulder through stretches. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ciri stumbled at the sight beside him, which was puzzling in its own right. The girl had seen them both without shirts at some point in their travels, though Geralt had been more conscious of his own nudity when bathing in a way he’d never had to be when it was only him and Jaskier traveling the continent. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She nearly ran across the room, her hand catching the bard’s free one, and he just laughed even as he winced at Vesemir’s deft hands. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What’s wrong? Were you reinjured? I thought you’d been so careful-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Take a breath, lass. He’s fine. I’m just checking that he’s healing well and will keep his range of movement. Should keep him in the sling for at least another week, humans heal slowly, and with his preferred weapon he needs all the range he can get.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“The staff, right? Julian said you taught him.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Did he now?” Vesemir tossed the bard’s pale pink shirt at Ciri. “Didn’t peg you for a liar, bard.” Vesemir’s gentle teasing made Geralt frown at the familiarity. Jaskier had always had an ease with strangers, but Vesemir’s gruff teasing didn’t always come off gently.  He eyed Vesemir’s hand squeezing the bard’s forearm gently as he shuffled off to bring breakfast over.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier just ducked his head, flushing. “No, I said you’d taught me self defense. You’re right, though. Lambert’s the one who taught me the most on the staff.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ciri perked up at this, completely distracted from the plate Geralt pushed in front of her in order to help the bard pull the shirt over his shoulder without stretching his arm out of place. “But Geralt said you were his weapons master? Surely you taught Lambert, then?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was Jaskier, muffled from the depths of the fabric, who spoke up. “No, that was Aiden. Or rather, Aiden’s family.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt watched the discussion quietly, still shocked that Vesemir didn’t even flinch at the mention of Lambert spending enough time in the caravan to be taught a foreign weapon style. Especially taught by </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cats.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>approve</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it, which he’d never seen Lambert patient enough to teach anyone anything. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>True to his long familiarity with his Wolves, Vesemir noticed his dismay. With one grey eyebrow raised, he just nodded at Geralt’s plate, startling him into working on his own breakfast. At the movement, Ciri finally seemed to notice her own breakfast, and after tying the neckline of Jaskier’s shirt closed she pressed a kiss to his cheek and set to work. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir pulled forward an old leather sling, probably dug from the depths of the small hospital room the keep boasted. Training injuries and accidents were regular enough that a variety of slings and wraps had been created for reuse - though the majority of them would be smaller sizes. The bard had built a surprising amount of muscle over the last year- shoulders that were always broad were now thickened by muscle. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was a good look on him. Geralt watched carefully as Vesemir adjusted the straps so the bard could put it on himself, and stood back, pleased. The last time he’d watched this process so carefully was when Eskel had fallen from a tree they’d been climbing and wrenched his arm badly. He’d been much smaller, then. They all had. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It unsettled him to see the same gentle hands and patience that had marked Vesemir’s tenure as one of the sword masters and educators of the keep. An adept perched on the table or chair being tended to in this kitchen wasn’t uncommon, with the minor injuries that happen so often in training. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ll get started on the walls tomorrow.” Geralt grumbled quietly. “What else is needed?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir just sat down heavily beside Jaskier, watching Geralt’s open, expectant face. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You will take at least four days, get your child acquainted with the keep. Longer, if necessary. She cannot rely on someone to guide her, and a child of her age deserves privacy if desired.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt frowned deeply. “That’s what Jaskier’s for.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The room went silent, before Ciri stood, tugging gently on Jaskier’s arm. “Well, he is right about one thing. He cannot show me where your room is. Please?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier was silent, but shifted around, climbing carefully over the bench before Vesemir caught him before he left, a gentle touch on his back. He turned all the way around to face Vesemir, his mismatched eyes narrowed and watery. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir just pressed a staff into his hand. “It’s better than nothing, for now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The old training staff was shorter than his old one, and heavier, but he’d missed the comfort of having one cradled in his arm, even through such familiar halls. Ciri followed him silently, their feet quiet on the old stone floors. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir didn’t wait long before turning around. He listened to their steps fade up the old staircase, knowing when they were out of ear shot, and likely headed to the heavy leaded-glass window at the end of the hall that overlooked the sheer drop behind the keep. The rain had begun to pour in earnest, pounding heavily on the roof. The roll of thunder vibrated the old stone walls, and the lack of sunshine and damp, muggy air only added to the unsettled atmosphere. Vesemir was always more easily irritated in the high humidity days, old injuries aggravated by the cold. And yet, Geralt was nearly taken aback by the fire in his old mentor’s eyes when he sat in front of him, his demand brooking no argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Explain yourself, boy. Full sentences.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They spoke as the storm bore down upon the mountain, Vesemir dragging more words out of Geralt than he’d spoken nearly all year, and his crushing disapproval had Geralt’s head hanging low, his voice soft. He spoke haltingly of the fight that had driven Jaskier away, so long ago. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span> Vesemir demanded to know his logic behind the times he’d left the bard behind. He talked about traveling with Yennefer, finding Ciri, and the haunting spectre of Nilfgaard. The fire in his eyes made it clear that his decisions were under scrutiny, and Geralt hadn’t felt as deeply inspected since he completed his first round of trials.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He had not managed to finish his breakfast, but left his hands flat on the table to avoid the fidgeting he desperately wanted to do. The weight of the conversation was heavier than the damp in the air. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir was unhappy. Julian, he said, was unaware of any of these excuses. He’d not been told Geralt’s history, and at this point, he was unsure if it would be helpful for him to learn. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The rage and crash of the thunder overhead only grew, and it was nearing midday before Vesemir shoved himself back from the table. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Enough, Geralt. She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> child. You’re welcome to ask Julian for help, but this is his home, too. He is not here as a tutor, he’s not here as your guest, he’s not here upon your </span>
  <em>
    <span>sufferance</span>
  </em>
  <span> -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s not what I -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir held up a hand, forestalling any argument. Cowed by the long, detailed discussion in which his every failure had been decried, he fell silent.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I fail to understand why you brought that bard back to break him anew. You say he forgave you, but I suspect you never actually apologized. That pup came for Cirilla, and stays for family. Not for you. You’re going to need to use your words, Geralt. Now more than ever.” </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner that night was quiet, the emotional toll on them all was heavy. Ciri leaned heavily on Jaskier, telling Vesemir about helping air out all of the blankets in his room and Lambert’s room. She’d loved tracing her hands over the heavy leaded glass panels, but the downpour left the view beyond muddled and hazy. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ciri had walked Jaskier down, carefully following the path she’d taken in the morning, showing him her own room, and they moved the furniture around a little to make it her own. Unpacking belongings hadn’t taken long, but neither one had dared venture close enough to hear the low murmur of voices from the kitchen. So they’d sat in her small room, chewing on the last of the trail rations for supper, as Jaskier told her of the previous winter’s usual routine. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He’d left her when she’d started yawning in earnest, nudging her gently into bed and building her a small fire carefully, as Lambert had shown him, so it would last the night. The halls were dark and quiet but for his soft steps and the gentle tap of his staff, but when he finally reached the main halls he tucked the staff back up into his arm. The kitchen was dark and quiet, the fire banked low. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He knew his way from here, heading up the stairs silently. He knew the steps by heart, the one loose stone to avoid. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He paused, at Lambert’s door. He’d considered leaving the gift on his bed, but as he laid the deep red blanket on his bed newly reclaimed from Ciri it was too closely matched to the battered armor that laid on the bed in the empty room next door. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He told Ciri he just wanted to make sure it wasn’t dirty. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The door itself was cold, and rough, but so familiar. Jaskier just patted it, before heading into his own room. The small bag was emptied easily earlier, the bedraggled flower crown had amused Ciri greatly. . There was a small collection of gifts, set on the table. He pulled the small waxed package from Elas, placing it in the center of the pile, placing the small buttercup pin on top. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He’d miss her. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Even with the small fire that Vesemir had prepared, the room was muggy and damp, and the heavy rainfall had only barely lessened. The thunder had stopped, however, so Jaskier shrugged the woolen blanket on and slipped out the back door. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The rain had lessened just enough that the sheer drop was visible, but the mist obscured the rise of the mountainside and the trees. He ran his hand over the rain slick edge of the wall, but for once didn’t dare climb on. He just leaned, far over the edge, looking down, before shifting to rest on his good elbow. It felt strange, to sing alone. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He wasn’t sure Lambert would like this song anyway. Slow and mournful, he let his voice carry over the drop, muffled by the rain and wind. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm tired of being what you want me to be</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Feeling so faithless, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>lost under the surface</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't know what you're expecting of me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Every step that I take is another mistake to you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He couldn’t help the anger that laced his words, </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>I've become so numb</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can't feel you there</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Become so tired</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So much more -</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>He hadn’t heard Vesemir approach, but the heavy hand on his back startled him into a yelp. The old witcher was soaked, but there was no irritation in his eyes. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Better?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I didn’t wake you, did I?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir just snorted. “Pup, did Lambert tell you how old I am? You do not sleep well, or much, at my age.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier opened his mouth, intending to ask, but the amused eyebrow made him snap his mouth shut. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on, let’s get you dry.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier allowed himself to be ushered back into his own room, the blanket hung to dry, and he shimmied into dry trousers as Vesemir hung the damp ones up out of reach of the sparks. The quiet, deliberate privacy he gave him was so similar to how Lambert behaved when they first met. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He plucked the heavy leather sling off, but when he set it on the table Vesemir turned on him, deftly pulling off the damp shirt before shoving the large shirt he liked to sleep in at him. He’d left it on his bed, and it was wide and loose enough that he could get it on unassisted. Vesemir was still damp, but just shook his head. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Will you be able to sleep?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier just looked at his bed, and again at Vesemir. “I… don’t know. Did your talk go well?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir just studied him quietly, before nodding. “Well, I’m not sitting in your bed soaked to the skin. But if you like, you can stay in my room for the night.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I couldn’t, Ves, I-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you think I would offer what I couldn’t give, pup? Come along, I’ll tell you a story.” Vesemir took over, tamping down the small fire and pushing the abandoned staff in his hand. “You don’t need the sling to sleep. Let’s go.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir’s room was warm and dry, and his bed had been shoved into a corner, leaving far more room in the middle of the space for a large, soft chair and table. The room was notably larger than his own, but had a cozy, well lived in atmosphere with slightly crooked bookshelves lining one wall. He nudged Jaskier towards the enormous bed. It looked easily big enough to fit three, and Jaskier burrowed his way under some furs. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He peered out when Vesemir climbed into the bed, shoving the pillows and blankets so he was sitting up beside Jaskier, a battered book in his lap. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier peered up at him with one bright blue eye, and Vesemir just patted his head gently. “Rest. I’ll keep watch. Do you want to hear stories about these idiot children?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You have a book of stories?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“The summer is long, Jaskier, and even our memories fail with age. This journal was from when Eskel and Geralt were small, the year before they went through the trials.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not Lambert though.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He’s quite a bit  younger.. He was not yet at the keep when these stories happened.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hmm.” Jaskier curled up, quiet and calm. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir patted his head again and thumbed through the book. He started at the beginning, telling a story of a babe, brought up the mountain. He had the biggest grey eyes and curly dark hair, and thought himself a knight. He told a story about a bumblebee, climbing trees with Eskel, skinned knees and finding the pair of them inseparable.  </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He sounds nothing like he used to be,” Jaskier murmured, peering up from under a pile of blankets. “But Eskel sounds just the same.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir just hummed, and flicked through the journal at times, finding new small tales to tell until Julian fell asleep. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He just shook his head, and settled in to read from the beginning, quietly. This wasn’t the first time he sat up to watch over someone who just needed the company, and with as much as this little bard had given them all, one night of sleep to soothe his troubled mine was a small price to pay. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier was never an early riser, but even though he woke earlier than normal in an unfamiliar room, Vesemir was already gone. He carefully picked his way back to his own room to start the day, but he knew that Vesemir had usually fed the animals by now. Later in the winter, it wasn’t uncommon to find he or Eskel had already cleared any snow before they all worked on repairs in the early morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After midday was the warmest, and that was when they’d taken to sparring with Jaskier. Lambert had laughed at him the day he’d teased about how forms on the path were always first thing in the morning, but training here happened later. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why do you think we wait until the warmest part of the day, Jules?”  Ciri had cackled at Jaskier’s gruff mimicry, “We can’t have you frozen solid.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ciri had seen enough pain and loss to see that the smile never seemed to reach Jaskier’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was four days before she stood alone before Vesemir, fidgeting quietly. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Geralt had left her behind to hunt, with a quiet promise not to go far. They had spotted a wide, brown gash of a mudslide at the very opening of the valley the previous day, and Ciri had been terrified at the possibility of Geralt being swept away in another. For as nervous as she was for his safety, however, it didn’t negate the fact that this meant she was to be left alone with Vesemir all afternoon, as her lessons with Jaskier always started in the kitchens in the morning. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The warmth of the room and the distraction of breakfast often had Ciri in a more positive mood, willing to listen to the stories and tales he wove, teaching her histories her grandmother didn’t approve of. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It felt illicit, friendly and fun. Julian sat across from her, clearly amused by how delighted she would get into learning the stories of court, and the embarrassing machinations behind closed doors that a young princess wouldn’t have been aware of.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir had enjoyed sitting in on the lessons from time to time, quiet and respectful. The bard told his tales, used to playing to an audience. But the moment Cirilla was swept away for her afternoon training, the bard would slump, the light in his eyes gone and he became quiet. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But now, the bard was gone, and they were alone. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on, pup. No mooning. Put the questions away in your head. Time will answer the ones I can’t, and the ones I probably can aren’t something you need to worry over. Chop those, and I’ll take you up to the tower again, we can see if they’re coming yet.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He’s so sad, Vesemir.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s not our weight to fix, pup. Just let him be, for now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It took another full week before they gathered in the library, the exhaustion from the long race across the continent finally sloughing off. Ciri had a million questions every day, and dragged Geralt around the keep at every opportunity, forcing him to speak more than he had in decades. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Vesemir just smiled and waved them to go, until finally he coaxed Jaskier into the library for the evening by asking to play a game. The little leather mat on the table caused the bard to smile softly. An old game, not as complicated or flashy as gwent, but a good one. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The room was silent as they settled in, sorting the pieces quietly. They played, with quiet murmurs and a laugh when the bard won, small huffs of amusement over a style of play Vesemir had never played against. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They were on their third game when Geralt and Ciri came back from their evening exploration of the keep. Tired and bright eyed, Ciri crashed onto the large chair beside Julian before peering over the gameplay. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“This game is boring. Is that your lute? Are you going to play it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The room went still, and Geralt turned slowly, to see a small section of books on one of the shelves on the wall had been cleared away for Jaskier’s old lute to rest. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hm. Good place for it. Figured he lost it.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier’s face went tight, and Vesemir just watched as he gripped the arms of the chair, his eyes closed. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Lambert?” His voice was small and unsteady, and when he opened his eyes Vesemir just nodded. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The tension held Ciri’s tongue, as she watched Julian rise slowly, never looking toward the lute, tucked on the far left wall of the library. With the small staff in hand, he dropped a gentle hand on Ciri’s hair, and left. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p>
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